Bring It On

(photo by flickr.com)

On my way to Whole Foods the other day, as always I passed by the street basketball court. The guys who play games on this court are like, NBA material. But they usually just wear their casual shorts and old T-shirts.

But this time was different. I could hear the whistle calls of a referee ring out down the street, and I could see that there were uniform red jerseys all over the court. Intrigued, I walked up into the park. Crowds had gathered.

I watched in awe. These casual street players had suddenly transformed into athletes with one-pointed focus and intensity. The orange basketball zigzagged up and down the court, between hands, between players, the teams migrating up and down the court in swift and stunning speed.

Just watching the game I felt that nothing else mattered in the world but that orange ball and getting it to swish through the net. I laughed, groaned, cheered.

When at last I pulled away, I walked on and meditated on how I want to live my life with the intensity of that basketball game. I want to absorb my mind utterly and completely, where nothing else matters but serving God.

Well, today was my day to cook lunch for the deities here, Radha Murlidhar, as well as the devotees. Today also so happened to be Srila Prabhupad's appearance day. So I plotted and planned to cook a lovely feast.

Beginning at 7:30am, nothing else mattered but chopping vegetables, baking muffins, spicing dals... time was ticking, ticking down until the offering would be made at 11:30am.

Cooking became my basketball game.

Only minutes were left when I discovered that I hadn't even made the rice. My friend Gauranga saved the day and began to make almond rice.

When Keshava Krishna arrived with the offering plate, I was still dashing around the kitchen.

But the plate got made. Everything was offered to Srila Prabhupad and Radha Murlidhar.

Swish! She scores!

Bring it on... for life.

I'm game.

(photo by iwallpaper.com)

Turn Up The Volume!

One of my 2013 New Year's Resolution: Write a minimum of 40 blog posts this year.

Guess what?

It's almost September and this is my 13th post. This has got to be my lowest publishing rate ever in the history of this blog. I feel sad and yet also indignant. Like, come on, you can do better than 13 posts. 

So, being a woman of my word, it's time to turn up the volume. 

On this stereo of Bhakti lata's life, we'll be playing 27 posts - life stories, photography, poetry, fiction, reflections, art, or just checking in. 

And who knows? My vow was a "minimum" of 40 posts. 

Stay tuned to this station. 

(photo by allvoices.com)

Jewel of Stillness

For the past two weeks, my life has been scheduled chaos. Yeah, I guess I'm just catching the New York vibe, right?

Sigh.

Amidst such storms of activity, something stands out to me right now as I write this. Last night, Radhanath Swami gave a talk, and because I was MCing the program, I sat right up front. I'm talking front row, there was literally no one sitting in front of me.

Even though I had so many duties to conduct this program and I could have been dashing all over the Bhakti Center to arrange stuff, somehow I was forced to just sit. Sit still, Bhakti lata, and listen.

Listen I did.

There's just something about the way that Radhanath Swami speaks that pulls me into another world. Radhanath Swami has this grace to cut through to the essence with such beauty.

Last night, time stood still. I could've listened to him for hours speaking about compassion, integrity, humility, self-worth.

Not to get too gurukuli on you, but I'm just not much of a scripture class kind of girl. I remember, though, how when I was about fifteen and just getting to know Radhanath Swami, his classes would have this same effect of me: time would stand still. The world would fall quiet and my mind would be washed in light, my heart washed in realization.

I once heard that a symptom that someone is our spiritual master is when we listen to him or her speak spiritual philosophy and all of our doubts vanish. For as long as I can remember, back even to when I was a child, when I have heard Radhanath Swami speak, my doubts would vanish, my heart would awaken.

In this sense, as the years go on I realize that I did not choose Radhanath Swami as my guru. My soul has only needed to recognize him as my guide and beloved master.

So amidst such chaos here in New York - and while I am praying praying praying for things to settle down - to sit in front of Radhanath Swami speak was a jewel of stillness. 

Fill the Hole

Yesterday I was walking to Whole Foods Market to drink a kombucha and write in my journal. I felt tired, aimless. My chest felt cold and empty, like a hearth where the fire has gone out.

"Bhakti, hey, nice to see you!"

I looked up and saw Hema, a beautiful young lady I got to be acquainted with at the Bhakti Center.

I smiled. "Oh, Hema! Nice to see you, too," I replied.

"Hey, are you tired? Sad?"

I laughed sardonically. "Not tired. More... aimless."

"Yes, that's it, that's what I see on your face. Well, I'm headed over to Atma's evening program over at 26 2nd Avenue, you want to come with me?"

I hesitated. "What's the program?"

"I wasn't even going to go, but a friend of mine asked if I was coming. She said there was a special speaker tonight. There'll be kirtan,"

"And prasadam?"

"Yes, and prasadam,"

I grinned, "Okay, let's go,"

We set off to the small storefront that was the place where the International Society for Krishna Consciousness all began. I felt like a newbie off the street, coming to this whole Krishna world for the first time.

We walked into the packed room and wove our way to the front. Romapada Swami was the special guest, but sigh, just our luck he had just finished speaking. Kirtan soon began. I felt skeptical, a little dry. Amazing how I felt like a newcomer.

Different singers came forward to sing, and with each kirtan I paid more and more attention. Then, the last kirtan was lead by a spunky lady and yoga teacher here in the city. Somehow her raw kirtan just pierced right to the emptiness in my heart. I sang in response and the words kept passing like signs through my mind, "Fill the hole, fill the hole,"

I felt the hole get filled. Actually. For those couple minutes with closed eyes singing the holy name, I felt the hole get filled.

After the kirtan, I helped serve prasadam and I interacted so lovingly with other seekers of God.

Within another hour or so, though, my heart emptied out again.

This is my life lately. Emptiness. Then the hole fills with the next kirtan. Or conscious bite of prasadam. Or the moment I tuck the deity form of the Lord into bed. Or a soul-moving conversation with a devotee. Each time this happens, I just pause in wonder and awe. Then, soon after, my heart empties.

Crazy how in New York City I feel this raw, raw need for God as a person in my life.

[I just saw this picture and it seems to capture the essence of the title of this post.]

Searching, Searching

When I was in India and I got homesick for America, I would have a very specific daydream:

The library.

Wander into a beautiful library with vast ceilings, shelves filled with books and books, immerse myself in the mystical mood of knowledge and inquiry. And of course, AC. Then, I would settle into a nook and read lovely children's picture books. 

So yesterday I caught the F train to the New York Library on Fifth Avenue, one of the most famous and magnificent libraries in the world.

(photo by flickr.com)

I wandered vast marble halls and passed giant oak doors with gilt metal handles. I made my way to the children's section and read lovely children's picture books. And there was AC!

I stayed for awhile.

Nice. Yeah. I wandered back out onto Fifth Avenue, the buildings stretching to the sky, rivers of people moving along the sidewalks. I walked into Zara to admire clothes. Within minutes, I walked out. I picked a direction and eventually came to a bookstore, but even there I felt the fever of everyone around me to buy, buy, buy.

I felt the energy pulsate in the air of everyone searching for something, searching, searching. 

Including me. 

At last, a little dizzy, I took the F train back to the Bhakti Center.

Recently, I received brahmin initiation, which allows me the responsibility and privilege to worship the Lord in His deity form on the altar. That evening, I was scheduled to receive training to put Radha Murlidhar to rest.

When I came back from my city sojourns, I showered and put on a sari. I entered the templeroom and a whoosh of quiet fell over me. Soon, my teacher greeted me with a smile and training began. We prepared a tray of cookies, fruit, and milk in shining silver bowls, and I offered a short altar service of incense and flowers. Several people came to sing evening lullabies for the Lord.

The cold and hard edges of the entire day seemed to soften.

We closed the curtains. I moved to place the small brass deities of Radha Murlidhar into Their wooden bed. I moved Them with such tenderness, like a mother tucking her children into bed. I stepped back to look at Them sleeping and I sighed.

How many times must I lose Krishna to realize that He is to be found within my own heart?

(photo by Alex Vaishnava)

An Official Mystery

"You want to walk with Radhanath Swami and me to the Union Square Park harinam?" Dhanurdhara Swami asked me. We were conversing in a hallway of the Bhakti Center in New York City.

"Why, sure!" I replied.

"Let me just go ask him, and I'll get back to you. We'll leave soon, so just stick around,"

I nodded.

I had just flown in from India that very morning after being gone from America for almost an entire year. I kid you not when I say that tears stung my eyes when I walked through the corridors of Newark Airport. I was on American "soil"! I felt unabashedly patriotic.

Today was also the day that I had officially moved into the Bhakti Center - to give this Center and this city a whirl in service for awhile, see how things go.

A half an hour later, Dhanurdhara Swami ushered me to join him and Radhanath Swami, but the time was running late so we hailed a cab. As usual, I felt nervous to be around my spiritual master, who is such a huge guiding force in my life. The two swamis got into the back and I got into the front. How surreal, I thought. I'm riding in a cab with such eminent personalities. 

When we got out of the cab at Union Square Park, I could hear the distant thrum of the mridanga drum and the soft 'ting' of the karatalas. We were getting closer to the harinam.

I circled around to join the two dignified Swamis in their flowing orange robes. Radhanath Swami caught my eye. A mysterious smile lit up his face and he intoned, "Bhakti lata, today I officially give to you New York City."

My eyes widened. "Really?" That sounded pretty important, but I was puzzled. "What does that mean?"

"In time, everything will be revealed," he replied enigmatically.

I knit my eyebrows. I turned to Dhanurdhara Swami, "Maharaj, what does that mean, that Radhanath Swami has officially given to me New York City?"

"Ah, this is called Prabhudatta Desha,"

"Prabhupada Desha?" I said, trying to clarify.

"No, Prabhudatta, with a 't.' Prabhudatta Desha,"

"Prabhudatta Desha," I said carefully. The three of us were now walking abreast, weaving through crowds, approaching the harinam.

"Yes," Dhanurdhara Swami said, "This means 'the place of residence that the guru gives to you as your main place of service,'"

I was stunned. I looked over to Radhanath Swami. He grinned. "I told you that everything would soon be revealed."

A week later and I am realizing that his words will take a lifetime to be revealed.

Manhattan skyline the morning I arrived

Union Square Park harinam

Making Peace with Anger

I remember growing up how my family seemed to be on fire with anger. Heated fights with sharp words sometimes seemed the only way we could communicate with one another.

When I got older, at times I faced an anger so deep that fire seemed to course through my veins. I would shake, tears would stream from my eyes. I would fling words like knives from my mouth. Afterwards I felt like a monster, for surely I had betrayed the trust of those around me. How could anyone love me again?

Through emotional education with Satvatove Institute and my own exploration over the years, I have been on a long, painful and beautiful path of healing. I have learned so much about the dynamics of anger, being in integrity, and being assertive. I would say that I had made a tentative peace with anger.

Then, about a month and a half ago, I was tested. For the upcoming drama here in Mayapur, I was asked to play the part or Lord Narasimha. Lord Narasimha is God in His most ferocious, terrible form as the personification of anger to protect His devotee.

I agreed to play the part.

This particular production was unique, for we would be portraying Lord Narasimha with four people, to represent the aspect that God is everywhere. In practice, I would roar and kill and destroy, my rage filling the entire auditorium.All four of us girls seemed to go deeper and deeper into the experience of divine anger.

But as practices wore on, I would sometimes leave late at night feeling so exhausted and empty. For a week or so I lost my voice so profoundly that my words came out in squeaks. I was supposed to be a lion but I felt like a kitten!

The day of the performance, the director kept insisting on using dramatic bloody guts that I would rip out of the abdomen of the demon I was killing. At her insistence, inside of my chest I felt a brick wall come up.

No.

I wouldn’t do it.

I said I didn’t want to because I had never practiced the whole killing scene before. There were so many other things that were last minute. I didn’t want to ruin my entire costume.

Etc. Etc.

Deep down, I knew the reason why I didn’t want to rip out the demon’s guts.

I was scared.

I was scared of my own anger, of expressing anger to that utter point of rage. In practice, I had always mimed ripping out the demons heart and placing his intestines around my neck. But to actually have blood on my hands, for blood to fly everywhere…

I cowered inside.

That was taking anger too far.

When I was having my lion face make-up done, I remembered the story of how Jadurani dasi had been painting this same killing scene with Lord Narasimha and the demon, Hiranyakashipu. The original painting had had a few drops of blood here and there. Srila Prabhupad had frowned and then ordered her to paint blood and gore everywhere. So she did. Only then was Prabhupad satisfied.

If this is what Srila Prabhupad would want, I thought, then my resistance to this violence is only out of my own personal fears.

Just before the crowds started to arrive, we went on stage and practiced ripping open the armor. I went through the practice with tight lips and a frowning face. Clammy hands.

There was no backing out now. After the practice, I nodded curtly, silently, that I would do it.

The drama began. Scene after dramatic scene, I could feel the tension building. The demon Hiranyakashipu kept trying to kill his son, Prahlad, but the Lord kept coming to protect the little boy. Prahlad's demon father was at wit's end.

The finale scene came. A giant, Styrofoam pillar was moved onstage. We four Lord Narasimhas lined up behind the pillar, and I stepped inside the pillar itself. I could feel the entire auditorium watching us on the other side of the styrofoam walls. The air seemed to crackle with electricity.

I turned to the other Narasimhas and whispered, “Let us pray. Let us pray to Lord Narasimha that we may represent Him as a service to the devotees,” All of our faces became grave and we folded our palms.

I turned back around, folded my palms, and closed my eyes. I felt feverish. I murmured over and over again, “Jai Nrisimha, Sri Nrisimha, Jai Jai Nrisimhadeva,” I could hear my voice echo off of the pillar walls. 

Something curious happened. Chills went up and down my whole body.Then suddenly, a deep calm settled over my entire body. I stopped murmuring out loud. I opened my eyes.

Hiranyakashipu shouted, “If He is everywhere, even in this pillar, then I shall kill Him!” and struck the styrofoam walls.

I reached one hand through the crack. Then the other hand. With one move, I tore the pillar to both sides of the stage, leapt out of the pillar and roared from a place deep within. The roar of all four of us filled the auditorium. Cheers joined our roars.

As Lord Narasimha, I killed the demons one by one, like crushing insects. My heart pounded. I went through the motions of how we had done it in practice two dozen times, but suddenly this didn’t feel like practice anymore.

This was real.

We fought and danced through the fight scene. At last the moment came when I placed the demon into a backbend over my knee. I drew my claws and the demon screamed when he looked up at me.

My eyes were fire. My mind spun with the emotions, but mostly with the words: How dare you?

How dare you? 

I plunged my hands into the demon’s armor, wrestled with the saran wrap that covered the blood soaked garlands. I lifted the garlands out and suddenly blood exploded everywhere. The audience roared. I kept ripping the garland and then slammed the pieces to the side of the stage.

I drank the demon’s blood. In one final move I mimed placing his intestines around my neck. In deep disgust, I looked down at the demon’s broken body and flung him away. I roared twice more until my entire body shook.

When the play continued, I saw that blood had gotten all over the entire stage.

I only ceased my anger when the boy, Prahlad, came to offer his prayers. My face slowly softened, my claws slowly relaxed. At last I gestured to the boy to come close and I petted him with tender affection.

The fire had left my body and my heart.

When I got backstage, I saw that I had gotten blood not only all over my costume, but the other three Narasimhas as well. What I had feared the most had happened. A part of me wondered if others would shy away from me after witnessing such ferocity.

But there was no fall-out. In fact, all the other actors and the audience was delighted that blood had gotten all over everything. I was shocked. I kept insisting on somehow or other washing out the stains.

I walked home, quietly reeling from what had just happened. I went to sleep that night exhausted to the bone, as if I had just fought a war.

The next morning I woke up deeply reflective. I began my spiritual practice of chanting God’s holy name, and images from the night before began to flash before my mind’s eye. The demon, the four Narasimhas, the roars, the blood flying everywhere. Everywhere.

As I continued to chant and the images wheeled through me faster and faster, my body was swept with chills.

At last. At last I had not only faced my anger, God had given me the opportunity to purify that anger. God had allowed me to channel His anger as a service.

Gratitude rolled through my body in waves.

Days went by and men, women, and children in the Mayapur community approached me. They expressed their gratitude that I had portrayed such a ferocious form of Lord Narasimha. I could only bow and quietly offer their appreciation to Lord Narasimha.

Thank you, Lord Narasimha. Thank you. Thank you. May Your divine anger purify my heart.

ugram viram maha-vishnum 

jvalantam sarvato mukham 

nrisimham bhishanam bhadram 

mrityur mrityum namamy aham 

"May my head be protected by the moon colored one, who is the greatest among humans. My obeisance unto the ferocious and powerful, the great Vishnu, the fiery one, whose faces are on all sides; the fearful one, Nrsimha, who causes the death of even death personified."