Quiet

Quiet. I have found quiet. The sound of my fingers hitting the keys sound like the clicking of palm tree leaves in the breeze. Fans whir above my head in soft murmurs. The afternoon air is velvet on my skin. I'm surrounded by blue, chalky walls, and when I glance up from this screen I see a black chalkboard covered in algebra equations.

Be present. Write what you know. All week long, I have been coaching and drilling and testing my middle school English students to be present, use their senses, just write write write. Let expression emerge by movement of the pen.

So right now, I'm letting expression emerge by movement of my fingers. I just concluded my second week of teaching, ever. For two weeks I have been amazed, humiliated, surprised, exasperated, and utterly absorbed. Although I am surrounded by whirls of activities and noise and meetings and lessons, I have rarely ever felt so quiet in my life.

Quiet.

Just quiet.

I am doing my duty. With that comes this quiet inside. Even in my depths of discouragement in teaching, I always conclude: where else would I be? What else would I be doing?

My teaching needs a lot of improvement. A lot. Yet Krishna says in the Bhagavad Gita: "Better to do one's own duty poorly than another's duty well."

I had found quiet in this computer lab, and now boys have filled the room, their voices reverberating off the walls in discussion of fight scene choreography. Laughter rises. There - a boy just rang the bell that hangs on the tree outside - bong bong bong bong. The boys filter out of the room, chatting.

Class begins soon.

Once again I can hear the clicking of my fingers moving across this keyboard, like palm tree leaves moving in the breeze. All is quiet.   

A Quiet, Epic Moment

"What is the most honored profession in Japan?" I asked my 7th grade boys class. Today was my first day of school as a teacher at Sri Mayapur International School in Mayapur, India, and I had just reviewed my discipline system, reading, writing, and homework system.

"Anime drawer!" a boy quipped.

"Anime? No," I said.

"Noodle-maker?"

I laughed. "No, not a noodle-maker. Come on, the most honorable profession?"

"How about someone who figures out earthquakes and tsunamis?" one kid offered.

"Nice try, but no,"

One kid raised his hand. His name was Balaram, and I'll never forget that moment. He said, "A teacher?"

The moment hung in the air. I was deeply moved. I looked at Balaram and said, "Yes, yes, a teacher,"

"A teacher, ha!" some kids laughed, some snickered a little incredulously.

"Why?" I asked. "Why is a teacher the most honored profession in Japan?"

"Because they do what nobody else wants to do," one kid said.

"Not quite," I said.

Balaram said, "Because they give knowledge and stuff,"

"Yes. Teachers are the heads of society, they give culture and knowledge.

"You see," I continued, "When I was in 7th grade, one day my English teacher asked this question to the class. My classmates said, 'doctor,' 'lawyer,' 'firefighter,' but my teacher said no to all of them. But then I raised my hand, 'a teacher?' and my teacher said, 'Yes, a teacher is the most honored profession in Japan. They give knowledge and are the heads of society.'

"That was the moment I decided that I wanted to be a high school English teacher. I was 12, not even in high school yet, but I knew what I wanted to be.

"So I find it very curious that although I wanted to teach high school, today is my first official day of teaching, and I'm teaching a 7th grade English class, the very grade I had made my life choice to become a teacher. I feel honored to share with you that after all these years, 13 years later, my desire is finally coming to pass and I get to teach you."

Some kids started applauding and some said, "Way to go, Mataji!"

A little surprised, I then smiled and did a little curtsy. "Thank you. Maybe one day, one of you will be inspired to become a teacher."

I looked at Balaram and gave a nod.

(*2019 update: Balaram's elder brother - who I also taught that year - went on to become a teacher.) 

Birthday Prayer

Yesterday morning for my birthday, my friend Mandali and I took a rickshaw to Bhaktisiddhanta Saraswati Thakur's bhajan kutir. This is the place where the Thakur made a vow to chant one billion names of the Lord in prayer for the fallen souls of this age. He chanted for 9 years and 3 months.

I had wanted this quiet, meditative morning; obviously Lord Chaitanya had a different plan. Yesterday so happened to be the last day of Navadwip Mandala Parikrama! This is an organized pilgrimage that draws thousands of people from every corner of the world. Mandali and I were moving among rivers and rivers of people, their eyes glowing, faces bright. We kept shaking our heads and grinning, letting ourselves get carried with the current. 

The kutir itself is usually quiet, but yesterday thousands had gathered in the courtyard to sing kirtan and listen to saintly people speak about such a holy place. I felt moved by how the Lord has truly reciprocated with the Thakur's prayers to flood the world with love of God. 

This kutir is the place to pray to be empowered to give. I prayed that this year I can be strong and share with others the love that has been given to me by the great souls.

Bhaktisiddhanta Saraswati Thakur 

Srila Prabhupad 

my spiritual master, Radhanath Swami 

The Mayapur Academy

After five years of prayer, endeavor, and many, many blessings, three days ago I received a Diploma with Distinction from the Mayapur Academy.

When Nrisimha Kavacha Prabhu came through Alachua in 2007, he spoke about the Mayapur Academy. The Academy would be a place where people from around the world could come and learn the art of worshiping the Lord in his deity form.

Immediately I resolved that one day I would take this 4-month course. Year after year passed, but the time was never right. Finally, last year I graduated from college and was free to go to India.

Only... I was a broke, fresh-out-of-college student.

But this was the year. It had to be.

With much trepidation, I began a fundraising campaign. I needed to raise thousands of dollars within only two months. Would people believe in me? I faced huge walls within myself to reach out so boldly.

I swallowed my pride and began to send e-mails and then make phone calls. I soon began to realize, though, that through fundraising for this trip, Lord Chaitanya was pushing me forward to beg the blessings of everyone I knew in my life - professional colleagues, senior devotees, peers, even juniors. A tsunami of blessings rushed in.

I reached almost my entire fundraising goal.

Thus, built upon the blessings of the devotees, last November I stepped into the Mayapur Academy. For four months I have been immersed in a powerful world filled with austerity, magic, and beauty.


I have dived deep into the reality that God is a person. Be clean for God, show up on time for God, cook the best food for God, give the best clothes and jewelry and flowers to God. Sing for Him, sacrifice for Him, be soft with Him, cry for Him.


That is love.

Love is a verb, and for the past four months I have been in the fire of that verb, realizing how how icy my heart truly is. My only hope is to remain in the fire.

Now that I have received my diploma, I am reflecting how I have been propelled forward by the blessings I received last year and every step of the way. I especially want to thank my parents - my fundraising campaign had been unfinished, and so they have supported me in these final months to finish the Academy.

I feel deeply moved by each and every person who spoke some kind word or gave even one dollar. Thank you.  

I offer my respects to each of my gurus at the Academy, especially Jananivas Prabhu and Nrisimha Kavacha Prabhu. I offer my respects to each of my fellow students, who taught me so much about humility, patience, tolerance, and respect.

I offer my gratitude to my spiritual master, Radhanath Swami, and to Srila Prabhupad. 

I pray that to repay this debt of love I may give to others what I have been given.  

***

If you are interested in attending or offering support to the Mayapur Academy, please visit mayapuracademy.org.

If you would like to give so that I may finish my time here in Mayapur, you can visit blossomofdevotion.com. Thank you.

My Heart is an Altar

Several days ago, after the temple had been closed for the afternoon, we ladies of the Mayapur Academy went onto the altar of Pancha Tattva to do an annual cleaning. When I first stepped onto the cool marble floor of the altar, I just gazed up in wonder at each of the five, magnificent golden forms of the Pancha Tattva.

Please allow me to serve You today, I prayed.

We all grabbed buckets and rags and began our work in reverential silence. I scrubbed the walls and the floor until my arms and body began to sing with soreness. Cobwebs, grime, and soot kept coming off the walls in rivulets.

With each passing minute, I began to feel sick to the stomach. Weaknesses and faults in my heart churned and churned to the surface.

Pain, disgust, sickness.

Hatred, doubt, cynicism.

I felt so humbled, so sad to be feeling such things in the presence of the magnificent golden forms of Pancha Tattva.

But what could I do? I wanted to run, but I knew that there was no hiding from God. So I just kept scrubbing.

When the walls, doors, and marble floors had all been scrubbed to a sparkle, most of the ladies left the altar to wash out buckets. I stayed on the altar. I knelt down with folded palms and gazed up at the face of Lord Chaitanya.

In my mind, I murmured the Sanskrit prayer of forgiveness over and over again. "Oh Lord, whatever worship I have offered to You today is without proper knowledge, method, attitude, with no devotion. Please forgive me. I pray that You may accept whatever little effort I have made. Now I shall remember Lord Krishna and He shall make everything perfect."

Those moments seemed so suspended. I was practically alone on the altar with Pancha Tattva, the doors closed, the temple quiet. Looking at Lord Chaitanya, I felt as though the contents of my heart were laid bare before Him. All of the gunk and beauty.

With that, I offered my obeisance, touching my forehead to the cool marble floor. Then I left the altar.

A couple days later, I attended an international kirtan festival in Mumbai. That first afternoon, I sat in the whorl of a powerful kirtan, in the midst of hundreds of people crying out the holy names of God. Each name that I sang seemed to hang and shine in the air for a moment. My heart felt quiet and peaceful.

Clean.

I sang for hours and hours; my cheeks began to ache from so much smiling. Through it all, whenever I would close my eyes, engraved upon my mind were the five golden forms of Pancha Tattva.

(photo courtesy of flickr)

Embracing My Nature

I have always considered my nature to be that of a brahmana - one who feels the most alive and content to study and teach.

Today, though, I have been embracing the fact that my nature is also that of a ksatriya - an administrator, leader, even a bit of a warrior.

I saw a picture tonight of me dancing in kirtan and tears poured down my face. I looked so intense, so passionate, like I was about to fight someone.

Accepting the fact that I have a ksatriya nature is so much harder than I thought it would be. As a woman, am I still lovable even when I bust out a sword?

Looking at that picture, I felt repulsed and liberated at the same time to accept the reality of my nature to be intense, outspoken, different, even a bit of a fighter. This is who I have been all along, all of my life. I feel like today I'm finally accepting that maybe it's okay to be this way, that there's a place in society for me. My journey is learning how to dovetail my nature in service to God.

In one sense, it's not that big of a deal. I'm a brahmana-ksatriya by occupation. Teacher-warrior, no sweat.

Because ultimately, strip away all of those designations and I'm just a soul crying for Krishna.

"I am not a brahmana, I am not a ksatriya, I am not a vaisya or a sudra. Nor am I a brahmachari, a householder, a vanaprastha or a sannyasi. I identify myself only as the servant of the servant of the servant of the lotus feet of Lord Sri Krsna, the maintainer of the gopis. He is like an ocean of nectar, and He is the cause of universal transcendental bliss. He is always existing with brilliance."
- Chaitanya Charitamrita, Madhya Lila, 13.80

Enough

My alarm clock tone is the 1966 track of Prabhupad singing pranam and Hare Krishna. This morning I decided to put in my earphones and listen to the whole track.

Prabhupad's voice filled my being.

The thought came to me how I want this track to be playing at the time of my death. Seeing myself on my deathbed did not feel morbid at all. In fact, I experienced such peace.

No matter how much my body may change, if I travel the world or remain in a small town, who I marry or if I ever marry, disasters or triumphs that befall me, who my children are or if I ever have children, what my career is, if I accomplish famous deeds or remain utterly unknown, whatever may transpire in my life...

... everything becomes so simple in those moments before I leave this body.

Prabhupad.

The holy name. Krishna.

Listening to Prabhupad sing this morning while I laid in bed, I experienced quiet moments of perfection. I don't need to prove anything in this life, to conquer the world or something. I just need to be me. I am enough.

Prabhupad will come for me.

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