The Moon is Always Full

I have been alive for 36 Janmastamis. 

I remember attending festivals in celebration of Krishna's Appearance Day as a child, running around in fancy clothing with my friends at night outside, thrilled to have the go-ahead once a year to stay up until midnight.

I remember dressing up to attend the festival throughout my teenage years, bubbling over with anticipation to see who would be coming (any cool girls and any cute guys??), and relishing the midnight feast. 

I remember traveling the world and settling into a community in my adult life, experiencing Janmastami in places like Hawaii, England, Belgium, New York, and Florida; some of these festivals were attended by tens of thousands of people. I've performed in many dances and dramas, dressed up in gorgeous princess-like outfits, danced in many midnight kirtans, offered all kinds of services from decorating to cutting up vegetables, and received the most magnificent darshans of the deities of the Lord. 

Today, I wore leggings and stayed home all day. 

I asked Ghanashyam if he wanted to go to the temple, and he said gently, "Only if you're there," 

And so we took darshan of the deities with our 3-week-old son Arjuna in our arms, lying on the daybed in the nursery, using Ghanashyam's phone to stream the live webcast from our local temple. The images were somewhat grainy, but we oohed and aahed with wonder anyway.  

Then later in the evening, Ghanashyam carried over the harmonium and a Krishna book and placed each on the daybed. I gently sang kirtan and Ghanashyam joined in while our little one laid down and played on his chest. Arjuna's wide eyes gazed at us and he stayed (mostly) still.

There we were, wearing t-shirts and leggings/pajamas at home, but we were singing the holy name and honoring the Lord. We smiled at each other, and my heart filled with a kind of golden joy. 

I thought, well, this is our child's first Janmastami. This family is the adventure that Ghanashyam and I have chosen. Images of all those exotic and wondrous Janmastamis wheeled through my mind and I marveled at how this simple scene felt just as wondrous. 

Then I held Arjuna in my arms and Ghanashyam read about the birth of Krishna from Krishna Book. His deep voice described how even though Krishna was born on the eighth day of the waning moon when really the moon should be rather obscure in the sky, nevertheless the moon rose full, just to honor the Lord. When he had finished reading, I said to Arjuna, "Well, my son, today is the birthday of your best friend. Krishna is Arjuna the supreme archer's best friend, and Krishna is personally your best friend, my little one, He is there in your heart." 

Soon, our son will begin to experience his own panoply of Janmastamis throughout his life, maybe run around with his friends or perform in dramas or offer service, maybe travel the world and experience the thrill of a familiar tradition in an exotic place. But I pray that he may always know and understand that the moon of Lord Krishna may always be full within his heart, that even in the simplest of moments that Krishna is his best friend.

a few hours old

Courage to Change

[The Serentiy Series is based upon this prayer: God grant me the courage to change the things I can, the serenity to accept the things I can't, and the wisdom to know the difference.] 

Ghanashyam and I bought tickets back in March to visit Alachua, Florida for three whole weeks. Alachua is the community I call home, and I wanted for us to spend quality time there. I reached out to one friend for a place to stay, but as the weeks went by and there was no response, I began to worry. I reached out to one other friend, but that was a no go.

Time began to spin by and my anxiety picked up speed. I began to fret. How could I have lived in Alachua for seven years and feel so hesitant to reach out to anyone there? Was I a stranger? How could no one be willing to help? This was horrible, heartbreaking. 

By the time June came around, I was considering canceling the trip and I had cried numerous times. 

What woe!! 

One night, I was reading the book Learned Optimism by Martin Seligman. I decided to consciously change my thought from: I've always been alone in this world, no one loves me, why would Radhe Shyam do this to me -

to

This is a temporary setback because DUDE I've barely reached out to anyone. Radhe Shyam love me. God loves me. 

Bam. Peace settled in my heart. The next morning I wrote five emails to various friends and mentors who live Alachua, asking for a place for both Ghanashyam and I to stay. I asked with affection, vulnerability, and detachment. 

Within three days almost everyone had responded, most saying that they were busy, but one mentor did say with much kindness that we could stay in his home. 

Now Ghanashyam and I are visiting Alachua and our situation is perfect for our service and for experiencing the overwhelming love of this community. 

Martin Seligman? Thank you, man. God spoke through you to me to help me experience the truth and make a change not only in the situation but within my heart. 

Reminder

I rarely listen to live recorded kirtans. It's just not my thing for a variety of reasons. Nevertheless, there are some live recordings that I listen to at times, and one particular kirtan I listen to is when I myself have lead the kirtan. This particular kirtan that I lead was about four years ago, and I had hosted Wednesday gurukuli bhajans at my home for my birthday.

Now, you may think this conceited of me. I listen to myself sing?

I'm having a difficult time in my life right now - where to go next in life? I'm facing pain and bewilderment and fear. Once again, I have found myself listening to this kirtan from four years ago.

I've been a little mystified why I'm listening to it, a little shy that someone would walk by my room and hear me listening to myself! But this morning I realized that I go back to listen to this kirtan when I am having a particularly difficult time in life - I'm struggling with my life situation, I'm facing issues of self-doubt and hurt and pain, or I'm simply unhappy. I realized that when I am singing the holy name is when I am the most happy and peaceful. I can hear it, I can feel it.

Four years ago I wasn't necessarily happier in life, in fact I was also going through a tough time. But at the time when I sang this kirtan, everything melted away. All that existed was pure joy and connection with others.

When I listen to this recording, there's a part of me that is longing to experience the peace and joy that I can hear so clearly. It's a reminder that I have been and can be happy and connected.

And of course, the holy name is always accessible, always ready to dance upon my tongue if only I let Him. Sometimes I find it hard to muster up any sincerity at all to even chant so I resort to simply hearing, and hope blossoms in my heart once again.

Krishna-shaped Hole

For as long as I can remember, ever since I was a little girl, I have always had this longing for something or someone. Something or someone is missing from my life. It's either new clothes, a temple, a community, adventurous travels, friends, a husband, an education, a house, a car, money, spiritual initiation, a guru.

Something.

Someone. 

And when I finally get what I want, I long for something else, I long for someone else. This longing has been a curse and a blessing. A curse when I long for material things, because I get consumed with a fire that burns me up. A blessing when I long for spiritual things, because I get consumed with a fire that lights my soul. 

Lately I have been consumed with a longing for furniture. Sounds silly, but it's true. I have this intense desire to really just get settled into where I live - I've been wandering the world for so very long and now I just want to live in. one. place. One. Place. Getting the perfect bed and curtains is a product of this longing for home. But it's a feverish search, my ideas keep shifting and changing, I feel consumed and burnt out. 

Lately I have also been missing Radha Shyamasundar from New Raman Reti. There's an ache in my chest of longing. I miss singing for Them, putting away Their clothes, dancing for Them, and just being within Their glowing glance. It's this ache that gets more painful and also sweeter. I want to forget the ache, distract myself, but at the same time I know that it's sweet. I feel that it's sweet.

My spiritual master Radhanath Swami once told me, "There's a Krishna-shaped hole in your heart and no one will be able to fill that hole - not your parents, not a husband, not me. Only Krishna."  

For the past several months, whenever I have found it hard to get to sleep, I call into my mind's eye the faces of Radhe Shyam. I meditate upon Their forms and soon enough my heart and mind are at ease and I find myself drifting off to sleep. Radhe Shyam fill that custom-made hole in my heart. And for that window of time, my longing for someone or something is quieted and my soul rests.

Love Letter for Radhe Shyam

My Dear Radhe Shyam,

Oh magnificent Shyam! My gorgeous, life-giving Lord. Your Radharani is a moon in the dark night of my mind. Her beauty is unrivaled in this world.

I want to share that You both are my inspiration for connecting with God as a person. You have inspired me for so many years to connect with You through intimate singing, dancing in kirtan, everything to do with worshiping the Lord. You are woven into the fabric of my soul. When I am in Your presence, all worries dissolve, all of my wishes seem to be granted. I am at peace, satisfied.

You are the reason I attended Mayapur Academy in India to learn the highest standard of worship. You are the reason I received second initiation, so that I could step upon Your altar to worship You. I just want to worship You, care for You, learn how to love You.

When all seems lost in my connection to Krishna consciousness, I have only to sit before You and sing for Sayana Arati and the well of my soul fills with the sweet water of nourishment and realization.

You both are the monarchs of my heart. Always. Forever. You are so, so high above, commanding such presence and high level of worship. And yet You are also so divinely soft and loving - You allowed me to step upon Your altar a year ago to touch Your feet for the very first time. Absolutely mind-blowing.

I have sat before You literally thousands of times to chant, sing, and absorb Your gorgeous forms. A year ago I sat before you, writing in my journal. You were on the other side of the curtains, getting ready for bed. I did not know when I would return to You to sing You another lullaby. I still don't. My destiny is in Your hands. I am now in New York, praying that I may be an instrument of Your grace.

I love You. I miss You. May I eternally return to reside at Your feet, singing lullabies.

Love,

Bhakti lata dasi

(photos courtesy of Ragunath das) 

God is Here

Looking at the photos below, I'm sitting in my chair in front of my computer and I can hear my heart pound. My mind is wiped of all thoughts and my world has become a quiet lake. 

Everything's going to be all right. God is here. 

I pray that one day Their Lordships Gaura Nitai, Radha Shyamasundar, and Krishna Balaram will allow me to come before Them and be Their servant. 

(photo credits Damodar Rati Dasa)

Journal Roulette

72 volumes. 72 volumes of putting my soul on paper. My journals now take up several shelves of a bookcase in my room, silently containing the history of my life since I was 11 years old.

I'm going to conduct a little experiment.

I'm going to open up several random journals and open to a random page. I'll then copy down a paragraph or two from those pages. Let's call it Journal Roulette, shall we?

You ready?

August 1st, 2011 (age 24)
Baja, Mexico [summer Bus Tour]
I write this late at night in the front seats of the bus. We're parked on the cliff, and the ocean waves crash far below in whispers. Everyone's sleeping.

December 24th, 2005 (age 18)
Oaxaca, Mexico [winter Bus Tour]
I pull plants out of the bag... and pull out the ugliest coconut head I have EVER laid eyes on. It's carved and painted to the likeness of a pirate with an eye-patch and an ugly grin.

I fight the urge to drop it and scream through the numbness. Hoots and raucous laughter erupt around the bus...

Why couldn't I have gotten a pair of earrings???

December ?, 2008 (age 21)
Tirupati, India
I stormed off to Brindavan, the mystical garden of Anantalvar, the place where his soul resides. There, I found my solace at the lake. A sadhu was chanting his gayatri on the ghat steps, and his presence soothed me. Otherwise the entire garden and ghat was empty in the cool evening.

November 1st, 2011 (age 24)
Gainesville, Florida
I'm sitting here in the eveningtime writing this on the Plaza of the Americas, and a young man just walked by me with a wave and a smile. [Puzzled], I called out to him, "Do I know you?"

He turned around and smiled. "No. You just look happy and peaceful. That's all."

I beamed. "Why, thank you!"

He waved again, turned around, and kept walking.

May 1st, 2013 (age 26)
Mayapur, India
Last night I spent time with Jahnavi at her place. We shared such deep secrets and realizations with each other. Shame, guilt... I feel so deeply grateful to have shared with someone this secret of shame that has been in my heart for many months now. We actually discussed it - not that I just said it and it was over. Wow. I feel like I was cleaning out and letting go of a burden. Last night I slept very peacefully; I had simple and peaceful dreams.

July 26th, 2001 (age 14)
Kailua-Kona, Hawaii
I have been through major ups and major downs, but you - a journal that reflects my own thoughts - are a patient friend who is always there to help me see the light. It is almost as if Krishna himself was guiding me. I could not have found anyone more dependable than a piece of paper, a pen, and my own soul.

Birthday Party for God

(photo by Damodar Rati)

The clock is ticking down to midnight. I approach the glowing temple - I see hundreds of people inside all singing to the thrum of drums, and many more crowd outside on the verandah, peering in.

The time is coming! The curtains will open soon! I dash to the doors and slip inside.

I stand at the back in a pocket of space, exchanging grins with some friends. Suddenly, someone flips off the lights, which plunges the templeroom into darkness. Now all we can see is the glow that seeps around the curtains of the altar, which dimly illuminates the sea of people with upturned faces.

I can't stay at the back. No way.

I catch sight of a friend, and with a huge grin I motion my head towards the altar. "Let's go!" I say. Her eyes widen and she smiles back. I grab her hand and we weave our way through the densely packed crowds, all the way... all the way to the very heart of the templeroom.

The anticipation of hundreds of people to see the Lord washes around me like deep ocean currents.

Suddenly, three men emerge from behind the curtains and place conch shells to their lips. The sound reverberates like trumpets through the night and hundreds of voices rise in response.

Midnight has arrived. 

And when at last, at last.... at last the curtains swish open, hands rise to the sky in surrender, the entire templeroom is filled with cries of exhilaration and joy, every atom of my being seems to be ringing with awe. I raise my own arms. I feel as though a tidal wave of beauty is crashing over and around me.

I fall to the ground in obeisance. Cool marble tingles beneath my hands.

When I rise, I take in the breathtaking form of Radha and Krishna, bedecked with flowers and silks. So begins the midnight arati, the most spectacular kirtan of the year, for midnight on the 8th day of the waxing moon was the moment that Lord Krishna was born.

Just when I think I'm getting a little too overwhelmed with the sound and the heat and the crowds, I look over to see a group of women dancing with zero inhibition. Zero. So I head on over and jump in to the fantastic fray! The dancing spreads and spreads until the entire templeroom of people is dancing and singing at the top of our lungs. I experience all barriers, all judgments, all sins, all pain dissolve. We simply lose ourselves to the bliss and celebration of Krishna and His holy name.

We're throwing a birthday party for God - how can it get any better than this?

(photos by Jivana Wilhoit)

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

Moment of Liberation

For the past several week, I have experienced a sort of stillness in writing - like a book that has been sitting on the shelf and has gathered dust. So much is going on in my life, but I haven't been in the mood to formulate my thoughts into words to share with the world.

Last night, though, in the thrumming whorl of Gaura Vani's and Madhava's kirtans here at the Festival of the Holy Name, I felt the murmurings of a desire to write. I was surrounded by a beauty that begged for expression.

Undulating waves of the holy name washed all around me and through me. I felt like a rough stone in the midst of great waterfalls of the holy name, and by the constant flow the rough edges of my heart became smoother and smoother.

At one point in Gaura Vani's kirtan, I experienced every single molecule in my body rest at peace. I tilted my head upwards gently into the light, and my eyes were closed. I lifted my palms skyward. And I experienced: this is the perfection. This is the perfection.

The holy name filled something deep inside of me, a yearning that I realize I am searching for in my life; I've been searching for this for lifetimes.

I observed a sign on the wall (which I shall paraphrase):

Chant the holy name in bliss. This is liberation. - Srila Prabhupad

I felt as though for those indescribably beautiful moments, I had experienced that liberation Srila Prabhupad spoke of, even if for only a moment. I pray for those moments to become my lifetime. 

Radhanath Swami's Magic

Over the past several days During Radhanath Swami's recent visit to Alachua, I have contrived so many reasons to keep my distance - he's too busy, I'm too mental and unqualified, etc.

My mind wants distance...

...but my soul wants closeness! Without fail, day after day, I am drawn irresistibly closer and closer to his beautiful presence, to listen closer to his beautiful kirtans, to soak in deeper his beautiful words... to laugh at his beautiful humor.

There is a saying, "We may forget what someone has said, we may even forget what someone has done, but we will never forget how someone made us feel." So while Radhanath Swami's words and actions guide my own words and actions on a daily basis, sometimes I forget all of that.

All I remember is how I feel when I am in his presence: bathed in purity. Inspired and at peace. 

This morning after Bhagavatam class, I simply walked up to him with a huge smile on my face; I expressed my gratitude for his class and his presence. I said, "I feel so grateful to be under your shelter, Maharaj,"  

He smiled in his effulgent way and said, "I feel grateful I got to serve you!"

I hope to serve him one day. 

Live Forever. Die Tomorrow.

"Live your material life like you will live forever; live your spiritual life as though you will die tomorrow."
 - Unknown

Tomorrow I leave for India.

It was around 5pm this evening when I pressed "Send" on my last school assignment of the Fall 2010 semester. I was a week early. In every area of my life, I have striven to tie up all loose ends by December 8th. I even registered for classes for next semester, and I have my weekly schedule mapped out.

But this evening, I've put it all aside for a month. I bundled up in the bitingly cold weather and drove over to the temple for Sayana Arati to bid goodnight to Radhe Shyam one last time. Only two or three people were there when the curtains gently swooshed open, and I sang for Them.

I prayed and prayed to Radhe Shyam to please protect my heart on this voyage to India - I prayed that I would not be a tourist, that I would not socialize, and - because this is one of my greatest challenges - I prayed that I would gain even a morsel of appreciation for the holy dham.

And then I meditated on the above opening quote - I have planned out my material life... so now how do I live my spiritual life?

After all, like a countdown, my last day in this world will come. On the eve of my departure from New Raman Reti as I sang for Radhe Shyam, I imagined that I would never return. I imagined that this would be the last time I would ever get to offer my obeisance when the curtains swoosh open, and this would be the last time I would sing for Radhe Shyam.

This is my last time. 

Suddenly, the pain of the moment became as beautiful as cut glass.

I pray to live every day like my last.

The Midnight Writer

6 minutes to midnight.

Now 5.

The moments at this time of night feel so deep, so quiet, like a lake that reflects the sky in a vast mirror.

As of late, my life runs like a clock, and the gears of my life fit together so that I go from one place to the next, one class to the next, one assignment to the next... tick, tick, tick... click, click, click... sometimes the pace speeds up to dizzy whirls, and I can barely find a moment to steady myself and catch my breath.

But right now, it's 2 minutes to midnight, and while I watch the clock, there's no ticks, no clicks. Time right now just feels like that vast lake, all the moments of eternity at rest beneath the mirror.

These midnight moments bring out my soft words and poetry. All day long I write hard prose that brims with knives of citations and theses. But now, there's no professor to please, no manuscript to submit, and it's just me seeking solace in words.

These are moments when the world is asleep. I get to find a glimpse of peace, like watching shadows pass over the moon, and listening to rhythm of my breath as I dream.

Midnight.

Good night.

The Installation of Sri Nitai Gaurachandra

Krishna Dhama and Gaura Shakti are two second-generation devotees who recently invited the Lord as Sri Nitai Gaurachandra into their home and into their family.   

Come and celebrate!

The family offers prayers

        

spellbound

[below photo courtesy of Jaya Radhe]

The Story of a Vow

Around five years ago, on a warm summer night in Alachua, Dattatreya, Jaya Radhe, and I sat in a circle with Bhagavad Gitas in our laps.

"So, if we're going to do this Bhagavad Gita study group, I say we have a vow in order," I declared.

"Vow?" Jaya said.

"Yeah." I put my hand in the center of our circle. "You guys in?"

Jaya slowly placed her hand on top of mine.

"I'm in," Datta said, and he placed his hand on Jaya's.

"So," I intoned. "We must vow to read, study, and complete the entire Bhagavad Gita, together."

"Agreed." Jaya said.

"Agreed." Datta said.

We looked around the circle and grinned at each other. Then I shouted, "Srila Prabhupada, ki - "

"JAI!" And our hands flew to the sky.

One night a week, we meet in one of our living rooms to read the ancient Bhagavad Gita and Srila Prabhupad's timeless words. We discuss, we debate, and we confront our issues of faith with gruelling honesty. Each one of us contribute something unique, each of us with a dynamic and perspective that balances the discussion.

But life has drawn the three of us down paths into unknown worlds, paths that have lead away from Alachua, away from each other, sometimes for months and months at a time. We all have been turned upside down, twisted inside out, and had our heart put through the washing machine a couple times.

But always, after our sojourns into the world, our paths return to the confluence of one of our living rooms on a Monday night, and to the words of the Bhagavad Gita and Srila Prabhupad.  

At the time we made our fateful vow, we all thought it would take us a year, maybe two to complete the Bhagavad Gita.

Five years later, and we're on Chapter Five. 

We've stopped trying to calculate when we'll finish, because we've all realized that there is no finish line. Through each other's association, the words of the Gita have leapt from the pages and have irrevocably changed each of our lives.   

Man, we had no idea what we were getting into when we put our hands into that circle. 

House of God

I so happened to purchase a moped for the coldest recorded winter of America (It snowed - in Florida). I tend to visit the temple almost every day, but for the past several months my visits have tapered off. The cold air from riding a moped has seeped into my bones.

But tonight, I decided I needed the temple. I needed Radhe Shyam.

When I stepped into the templeroom, Prabhupad's voice washed over me. I felt my anxieties dissolve into the cool marble floor. It's that feeling I get when I gaze up at the stars - that beautiful humility. It's like I suddenly have a perspective on how tiny and insignificant I am. This is a place where nothing revolves around me and everything revolves around God.

I pray to be a servant in the house of God. Then I can bathe in the humility of gazing at the stars of Radha Shyamasundar.

Radha Madan Mohan, Gaura Purnima

My dear friend and roommate, Shalagram Shila, used to dress Radha Damodar in Gita Nagari. So on Gaura Purnima morning, I invited her to come dress Radha Madan Mohan with me. 

She dressed Radha.

I dressed Madan Mohan.

The Installation

"So, the confirmed date for the installation of Sri Krishna Balaram is... May 30th!" Mukhya dasi, the temple president of Alachua, announces.

Silence.

"This will be the most amazing installation ceremony North America has ever seen!"

I want to jump from the floor and do a jig. At last. After seven years of dreaming and planning, and the more recent fundraising with sweat and blood, the temple of New Raman Reti dham has set a date to welcome Sri Krishna Balarama. Like our namesake of Raman Reti in Sri Vrindavan dham, the deities of Gaura Nitai, Radha Shyamasundar, and Krishna Balarama will finally all reside here.

And the news is greeted with scattered applause??!?

And I realize, with a laugh to myself, that this community has set over a dozen dates to install Krishna Balarama. We've been in doubt for the past seven years, so I empathize with the silence of disbelief. But something in Mukhya's tone tells me that this is it. This is it.

You see, the hitch has been that the only way Sri Krishna Balarama could be installed was if a new kitchen was built. A very big, very expensive new kitchen. There was simply no way the current kitchen and pujari facilities could facilitate the growth of this community if we welcomed new deities. To cook festival feasts for two or three thousand in the current kitchen is pretty excruciating as it is.

Then Mukhya dasi took the reins of the management here about a year ago and the tide began to turn, the dream to become solid. She pushed for the fundraising drive, and I believe we were all still suspended in disbelief that it was actually happening.

But this community has raised nearly a third of a million dollars.

And so at last, over a month later after Mukhya's announcement, the kitchen is nearly finished and the reality is sinking in, Sri Krishna Balaram are coming, and the anticipation and excitement is spreading like a deep, intense fire all over the world. People from every corner of the world will be flying, driving, and walking in to welcome Sri Krishna Balarama.

So at last, May 30th. Where will you be?

My Milk-Water Tale

A common tale tells of a teacher who bids his student to fetch him a glass of water.

“Water? For my master? No, he deserves milk,” the student thinks, and so he fetches a glass of milk.

When the teacher receives the glass of milk, he rebukes his student, “True instruction is to follow the orders of the teacher, what pleases the teacher, not what you think would please the teacher. ”

Although I’ve heard this tale since childhood, I believe that to truly understand this principle of service, every sincere student must live this humbling tale, at least once.

So welcome to my tale.

When my spiritual master Radhanath Swami visited Alachua this summer, I took it upon myself to organize Wednesday bhajans – the nama hatta program of the gurukulis of Alachua – and invite Maharaj as the special guest.

The night before Wednesday bhajans, several gurukulis were gathered around Maharaj. The night went late, but we all wanted to keep talking, so we planned to fit in a darshan time for the following night, when we could talk about life and his book. Maharaj suggested a schedule that basically left no time for him to take prasad.

“But Maharaj, we planned for you to take prasad at 8 o’clock,” I spoke out.

He turned to me. “Then I will eat what everyone else eats.”

“Pasta?” I asked.

He just chuckled and said, “Yes. We’ll all be like the cowherd boys, taking prasadam together,”

Everyone smiled and chuckled, but I thought, yeah right.

I brought the issue up with my friend Radhika Rani, and we both brushed aside Maharaj’s sweet but unrealistic desire to eat gurukuli fare. His health came first, and Maharaj’s health is possibly one of the worst in ISKCON. So we arranged a nice, healthy menu as a collaborative effort of wonderful cooks.

The following night when Maharaj came for bhajans, as planned we had a separate darshan time. Gurukulis were packed in, wall to wall. Maharaj’s bronchitis was so bad you could see the entire room leaning in to hear him speak. I worried about him, and was glad we had made a nice dinner.

After the darshan when most of the gurukulis had filtered away to head to the main house for bhajans – which were already in full swing – at last we got to serve Maharaj dinner. I placed the plate in front of him, and he turned to me and asked, “Is this what everyone else ate?”

“Um, no, Maharaj, they had pasta and watermelon,” I replied, taken aback.

“Would you get me some of that prasadam?”

Abashed, I rushed out to get Maharaj a serving of pasta. The pasta was cold and slippery, and we were running low on sauce so we had watered it down to runny red water. As I put a serving into a bowl, I just laughed and laughed. I knew Maharaj was chastising me.

When I set the bowl down in front of him, he turned and asked me, “So, is this exactly what everyone else ate?”

“Well, we were running out of sauce so we mixed it with water, but yes, this is what everyone else ate.” I said, embarrassed.

Satisfied, he turned to take prasad.

At one point, I asked Maharaj, “Would you like any water, anything to drink?”

And he said, “I am…” a smile twitched the corners of his mouth, “… intimidated by your hospitality,” he grinned then to see my speechless expression. He then laughed, his shoulders shaking, his whole body bouncing, and he looked at me with a sparkle in his eye. He added, “I’m just joking.”

I grinned in return.

When Maharaj and several other Prabhupad disciples had finished dinner, they all stood up to leave to attend bhajans in the main house.

I stayed behind to clean up.

I picked up Maharaj’s plate… and laughed and laughed to remember the Milk-Water tale.

Of the fresh dhokla, sweet potato soup, and organic brownies, he had barely taken one bite.

The pasta was finished. Only two or three wet noodles remained at the bottom of the bowl, along with some of the runny sauce.