From Fever to Peace

 "Where should I put this dish?" my friend Shyamala asked. She held a wet bowl in her hand. 

I groaned. "Over there on the drying mat. Here, let me make some room." I stacked dishes and toddler cups and bowls in my arms and dashed around putting things away while my friends washed plates from our gathering that day. "You know what?" I said. "I've given up on this kitchen. I've given up on this place," 

"How come?" my friend Padma asked. 

"Just look! Nowhere to put dishes. All this mold and mildew around the sink. Everything crammed into the cabinets. I can't cook without getting stressed. I just want to move into my own home," I declared. "But the housing market is so outrageous, and we just can't afford to move on. I feel like my whole life is on pause,"

Both my friends nodded with kind eyes. But I couldn't help feel that my explanations were excuses, hiding my embarrassment at such a cluttered and unkempt kitchen. In fact, if you were to open any of the closet doors or drawers in my apartment, you would probably raise your eyebrows at the chaos. 

A few days later, I went on a japa meditation walk in the evening on my own, the breeze blowing, the sun setting beyond the trees, the stars just beginning to emerge. I looked over at the two-story house where my husband and I rented the ground floor, and a wave of warmth washed over me. I remembered the conversation with my friends, how I had declared that I had given up on this place, but really, I loved living here. Sure, the place needed some upgrades, but if I could, I would live here forever (on both floors). The legalities of ever owning it, however, were beyond complicated. And at the end of the day, we had just outgrown the space of our ground floor a long time ago. We needed a whole house. 

Didn't we? 

I turned my gaze to the sky and found my first star. I had been suffering from this escalating case of  house fever for the past year, and had religiously wished on my first star to move into our dream home soon. More like, ASAP. 

Tonight, though, I found myself walking a new prayer path: Please break this house fever and allow me to be at peace, even if that means staying where we are. 

We soon officially found a real estate agent and I asked hard-hitting questions about all kind of possibilities. I kept getting slammed by the reality of the cost of owning a home in our current situation. I had spoken to many people over the years who were "house poor" - owning a beautiful home but drowning in the upkeep. I began to realize that this was my experience growing up - even as a kid and teenager, I experienced quite clearly the stress over the mortgage, the worry about the utility bills, the anxiety about repair costs. 

One night after my son and husband had gone to bed and all the lights were out, I turned to the glowing screen of my phone and asked Google a nervous, desperate question: How much of my monthly income should I spend on a mortgage? 

I'll never forget the answer that came back to me, so black and white: The 28% Rule. Do not spend more than 28% of your total income on rent/mortgage. 

My house fever broke. 

This is it. This lovely, seemingly cramped place is it, where we can live within our means and be happy and peaceful financially, so that we can focus on loving relationships and on God. 

The next morning, I moved my desk into my room and immediately felt a click that yes - this place could work because I could work. I then targeted the infamous kitchen, the room I had never fully accepted or enjoyed since moving in five years ago. While the house fever went down, the physical chaos went up. Furniture and kitchen utensils and shoes and clothing and toys and paintbrushes... all flushed out into the light of day and analyzed - keep? sell? give away? recycle? 

The weeks wore on, and organization exhaustion began to filter in. I wondered if we would ever reach the end, if we would ever reach peace.  

One day, I was cooking lunch when I realized I could place a dish to dry with ease. In fact, my kitchen had been so thoroughly reorganized and redecorated that I found myself relishing being in the humble little space where I could feed my family with joy. (What's more, new countertops were to be installed soon!)

I then realized that I felt at ease in my entire home. We now had plenty of space because we had made space.  

I had begun to realize that I would find frustrating shortcomings no matter where I lived, even if we found some million dollar home on Zillow.

So while I still long for a house home, the longing has become a quiet murmur, like a cat's purr.  

I often remember that seemingly long-ago evening where I wished upon my first star, and I experience a swelling of gratitude that Krishna answered my prayer. He has granted me peace - right here, right now.

Now my main longing has turned to welcoming deities of Radha and Krishna into our family. Since we have cleansed and organized the temple of our home, maybe Krishna will come join us. He makes every home perfect. 

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

Open Heart

Tonight the weight of the world settled on my shoulders.

I walked out of yoga class heavy, burdened. The class was lovely, but whenever I take a yoga class the physical moves seem to open up the metaphysical heart.

So when my heart opened, the burden settled in. 

I felt overwhelmed by certain painful conditioning while growing up - the state of my fragmented family, how my insecurities and dysfunction affect my professional, personal, and spiritual life. Fear of perpetuating a painful legacy for myself and my family. 

I looked for music to soothe my heart. I came across a deeply Christian song, about how Lord Jesus Christ shed blood to save our souls. The song soared and enveloped me with softness and power. 

I drove down to the shore and watched the sun set upon the ocean in a blaze of fire. I felt as though the burden was lifting from my heart because the Lord was carrying that burden for me. What love. What amazing love. 

We all carry our burdens, we all carry our "crosses." How amazing that our Lord is so loving, so kind, so gentle, that when we simply turn to Him with open hands and a soft heart, He is so willing to carry our burdens. He heals our hearts, makes us whole, allows the impossible to become possible. 

I do not have the answer. I do not believe my burden is gone forever. But I had an experience this evening that the load can be made lighter, and my heart will be made stronger. May I forever turn to my beloved Lord for grace and healing. 

And next time I go to yoga class and my heart opens, may a river of joy come flooding out. 

The Cost of Love

"Okay Maddalena, we love you. We're praying for you," I said. I gave one last wave. My future mother-in-law was lying on a hospital bed, dressed in a blue gown. She smiled, but I could see the tense lines around her eyes.

Maddalena waved back with her fingers. "It'll be over soon," she said. "Then we're done."

Rick and I left the hospital and walked out into the gray, windy, and rainy day. The surgery would take several hours to complete, as well as recovery time to wake up from the anesthesia. We would return when the surgery was complete.

The thought flitted across my mind: Maddalena would love to be greeted with flowers when she woke up from surgery. Maybe we could go to the store and buy some.

When we got home, thought, I got absorbed in work and lost track of time. After hours had passed, I glanced at the clock and my heart sunk - oh dear, much too late to go to a florist shop.

Rick and I put on our shoes and walked out the front door. I saw that Maddalena's hibiscus bush was blooming brilliantly, almost in defiance of such a gloomy day. The giant orange flowers twirled playfully, their centers a bright red, their stamens reaching out as if to say, "Hello!"

It is described that the flower represents Krishna's, or God's, smiling face. Maybe that's why we smile when we see them. I smiled and picked a hibiscus.

When Rick and I reached the hospital, I put the flower into a paper cup and filled it with water from the tap. We waited a long time, anxiously checking the computer screen to see when Maddalena would be ready for visitors.

At long last, we were ushered over by the doctor to discuss her condition - she was doing very well. Soon after a nurse guided us to Maddalena's unit. Rick entered first, and he held her hand. She spoke softly, her movements heavy.

Then she turned to me, and when she saw the flower, a smile blossomed on her face. I was struck by the sudden light that shone from her eyes. "Oh! You brought me a flower! How beautiful!" I sensed she knew exactly where this flower had come from, but it didn't seem to matter that she had grown the flower herself. I handed her the paper cup and she beamed. She then had me place the cup on the little hospital table.

Maddalena is a woman of great spirit and also movement. Not to be slowed down by an intensive surgery, she insisted on getting dressed in her own clothes right then, and with a call for a wheelchair to assist her out of the hospital, we were ready to go. "Where's my flower?" She inquired. "Bring my flower,"

I dutifully brought the flower.

When we got home, I helped Maddalena climb the stairs to her room to rest. When she was lying down in bed, she said, "Bring my flower, put it here,"

So I brought up her flower and placed it on her nightstand. I placed her cool hand in mine and sang to her prayers for protection, then gently slipped away.

In the ancient scripture the Bhagavad Gita, God says that one need only offer Him a leaf, flower, piece of fruit, or water with love, and He will accept it. This is the definition of bhakti, or loving devotion. I had given Maddalena a flower from her own bush, in a paper cup. And yet she saw the little drop of love with which that flower was offered, and that is what she treasured. Her heart was deeply moved by this flower, she had smiled, and her spirits had lifted because she had felt my love for her.

God can be satisfied with a crown of diamonds. He can be satisfied with a wildflower. He could be satisfied with a single drop of water. All that it takes is a drop of our own love, to offer what He already owns back to Him, and God's heart is satisfied. Amazing. The creator of the universe is satisfied by a wildflower.

This is bhakti. Bhakti costs nothing.

Love costs nothing.

Nothing.

I believe that bhakti is the expression of the heart, the soul. Bhakti is so simple, so breathtakingly, sublimely simple.

That´s a Wrap!

2014, what a year! Only one day left. What's gone down in the past 364 days? 

Flew into Hawaii to spend time with my parents

my parent's deities, Sri Radha Raman

 Honolulu Rathayatra!

Ghanashyam came to Hawaii in February to seek blessings from my parents

I moved to upstate New York with the wonderful Mother Kaulini while I did my Yoga Teacher Training with Raghunath and Sondra

from beaches to snow!

Yoga Teacher Training

I got to live next door to Satsvarupa Maharaj for several months

dressing Satsvarupa Maharaj´s Gaura Nitai deities

visits to New York City and Sri Radha Murlidhara

spring is in the air 

moved to Brooklyn New York

Got accepted into the Master´s in Education program at Brooklyn College

a bridesmaid at the wedding of my dear friend Syama (photo by Sharon)

Kartik in New York (photo by Francesca)

taught an 8-week course in kirtan with 14 sincere students

Christmas spirit in New York

One year of being together

 I write this now in Sao Paulo Brazil, as I am here for Kirtan Fest. I am realizing that this year has been challenging and blessed in a thousand ways. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, in every way.

May the holy name ring in a rockin´ 2015!   

Room Without A Roof

Images from yesterday's wedding play through my mind in snippets of magic.

The mysticism of the ceremony,
the tears of those present,
Jai's sober expression as he vowed to protect Syama,
the grins of pure joy of everyone (yes, everyone) dancing in kirtan,
Syama's effulgent smile and flaring skirt as she twirled,
the rooftop bedecked with white tents
and white globes
and golden lights,
the undulating skyscape of New York City glittering below us,
toasts,
laughing so hard I can't breathe,
the couple's first dance,
everyone dancing slow,
then fast, to "Ain't No Mountain High Enough,"
the delicious lemon poppyseed and chocolate cakes,
helping clean up,
dancing to "Happy."

Although it's popular, I heard the song "Happy" by Pharrell Williams for the first time last night. The lyrics sent chills down my spine.

Because I'm happy
Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof
Because I'm happy
Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth

It was a reminder that the soul's nature is to be happy. There's no hard work to it. It's just about being alive, feeling like a "room without a roof." All day, I felt as though that day was about being happy. Let the couple be happy, let the guests be happy, let God be happy.

Let go.

Let happiness in.

It's so easy.

Just BE.

That's the truth.

When I danced to the song "Happy" at the end of the night, the part of the song that kept coming, "Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof," was so perfect, as I and everyone else was on the rooftop of the Bhakti Center and only a thin tent separated us from a limitless sky.
(to view the video below on YouTube, click or copy and paste this link: http://youtu.be/2MJj2A1Kx20 )

On Love

For the past 8 months or so, I have been in a relationship with a wonderful man by the name of Ghanashyam. He has met my parents and sister, and I've met his parents, siblings, and extended family in the US. The other day, he told me that his grandparents wanted to meet me.

So we hopped on a train to go meet them in New Jersey.

Ghanashyam's grandparents have been married for 69 years.

Sixty-nine years.

I don't think I have ever met anyone who has been married for 69 years. 

Sometimes when people say that "we'll be married forever" it almost seems like too long. I can't wrap my brain around forever.

But I can wrap my brain around 69 years because I witnessed it the other day. I witnessed two people at the age of 91 who have love, respect, and affection for each other.

I asked Ghanashyam's grandma the secret for such a long, healthy marriage. She replied, "Patience. Lots of patience." I wonder what this means because it can mean so many things. I'll stay in this question. 

I asked Ghanashyam's grandpa the secret for such a long, healthy marriage. He replied, "We like each other."

I found that profound. These two people simply like each other. They like each other's company, each other's sense of humor, each other's rhythms. Loving someone can be a little fickle, but liking someone seems to be a steady truth. 

I walked away from our lovely afternoon quite pensive. One day the grandfather or grandmother will pass away. It's hard to imagine being married for 69 years, but it's harder to imagine being married for 69 years and then one day that person is gone. So many journeys, so many lessons of love - so much so that the souls seemed to have intertwined. 

Then bam, gone. 

I feel a cavernous hole in my chest just to think about it. 

I resolve that along with cultivating my relationship with my partner in life I want to cultivate my relationship with God, with Krishna. Allow the three of us to intertwine. We'll be patient with each other. We'll like each other. We'll love each other. 

Then whether my partner and I are married for 69 years or 69 hours before death comes for one or both of us, there is no cavernous hole of sorrow but an overflowing cup of joy. I pray that we may be carried beyond these material bodies by the Lord to a place where love never ends. 

Quiet Adventure

Sometimes adventures come of the quiet kind. Here in Hawaii with my parents, I have ventured inward into deep and quiet terrain. Lots of reading, writing, walks, dance practice. Connecting with my parents, connecting with myself.

In outward ways, I am surrounded by majesty every day, which I find is an adventure just to behold. 

flying in

waiting to perform

The Rathayatra cart in Honolulu, getting ready for the parade

The Pancha Tattva in Honolulu

the Honolulu temple's backyard banyan tree

Honolulu Rathayatra

sunset from my back porch

Hawaiian snow on Mauna Loa (above) and Mauna Kea (below)

the Lords of my parent's home, Sri Radha Raman

Missing Puzzle Piece

My parent's deities, Sri Radha Raman, have needed a bath and new clothes for awhile. So this morning I polished Their brass forms with tilak and lemon juice. Cotton balls came away blackish. I dressed Them in fresh clothes. I had actually designed and ordered these clothes five years ago when I had been in Vrindavan, India. 

When at last I placed Sri Radha Raman back upon Their altar, I just sat there and gazed at Their bright faces. They looked so happy, so beautiful. 

I physically felt as though my heart became complete. There was this curious sensation in my chest, like a missing puzzle piece had just been placed there.  

Why We're Alive

Here at the Bhakti Center, we have a community meeting every two weeks to simply connect and cultivate relationships. Last Friday we gathered. 

With each person who spoke into the open space of the circle, I could feel something special build. Then Ghanashyam shared his reflections on living here for the past decade - that the building was nothing without the people. Nothing. Even though people may come and go, relationships formed here in the fire of service to God are somehow different, special, eternal.

After he finished sharing, a long silence fell. His words seemed to hang in the air like spun glass. 

Later that evening I walked up to the rooftop to chant my japa meditation. Manhattan sprawled around me in every direction in all of its glittering, silent splendor. The cold air chilled my skin and I pulled my shawl tighter. I chanted the holy name and Ghanashyam's words circled through my mind in quiet spirals.  

The entire world looks to New York City for the next trend, the next wave. Srila Prabhupad knew this - that's why he came to Manhattan, and that is how the entire worldwide movement of Krishna Consciousness began.

When I reflect upon that night of walking on the roof of the Bhakti Center, I realize that although I was surrounded by the glory of buildings of the most powerful city in the world, they were nothing without the people inside of them. Nothing. They were just cement, steel, and glass.

It is so easy to get lost in the insanity of New York City. But within a certain building on First Avenue, I have found shelter within the people who have devoted themselves to God, to Krishna. I am coming to realize that there is nothing more of value in this world than these relationships.

Whether we're in Raxaul, Nepal or New York City, this is why we are all alive, this is what we're all searching for - purpose, service, love. 

(photo by mypostcardfrom.com)

(photo by dnainfo.com)