The Chosen and The Choosers

The Youth.


The Future of the Movement.


Descendants of the Demigods.


kuli (n.) [abbr. gurukuli] non-joiners; inborn members who do drum wailing (see play mridanga) and have smart philosophical answers for everything. (definition by Madi)

***

I don't play the mridanga and I never went to gurukul. Nevertheless, all my life I have considered myself a gurukuli. But a curious thing happened to me last year - I had an identity crisis.

Last May I took a profound step in my spiritual life when I received initiation by His Holiness Radhanath Swami. But when I introduced myself to new people, I realized that because I had received initiation many assumed that I had come to the Hare Krishna movement as a newcomer.

It was unnerving. Alas, it was like I had been voided of my seniority and the cool factor of being a kuli. My pride stung.

So for several months last year when I met a new person, I used to add a disclaimer to my introduction: "I received initiation last year, but really I've been in this movement since birth."

I began to cringe at my own words. I realized that when I tagged on that little line, I simultaneously boosted my pride and invalidated the mercy of my spiritual master.

So when I flew to India last December, I decided to conduct an experiment: never mention that I've been in this movement since birth in any way, shape, or form. I revealed my plan to my friend Balaram, but he laughed. "Bhakti, people will know you're a kuli just by the way you dress, the way you talk, who you hang out with... you can't escape!"

I was determined to prove him wrong. For once, I wanted to blend with the crowd. I wanted to ask for no special treatment or recognition (which, sadly to say, I have felt entitled to my entire life).

I tried hard to not wave around my entitlement, but I failed rather miserably in the beginning of my trip. I kept striving, though, to shut up and blend. By the time I flew down to South India to join a yatra with 5,000 other people, I was getting better at shutting up and blending and swallowing my pride.

Actually, I found the humility refreshing to my spirit.

On the first morning of the South India Yatra, a thousand of us poured out onto the streets of Kanyakumari. I ended up walking next to a young woman by the name of Arati and we struck up a conversation. I asked her how she had come to Krishna Consciousness. She told me her beautiful story, but that sadly her parents were inimical to the devotees and to her choice.

Then she asked me the inevitable question: "So how long have you been around Krishna Consciousness?"

I paused.

"Well..." I stalled, trying to find the words. "Well... when, um... when I was 13, I decided to open up a... Vaishnava songbook. Does that make sense?"

She nodded.

"So I read the translations, and they were so beautiful! Then I read Illuminations from the Bhagavad Gita, which is a book of illustrated verses from Prabhupad's Gita. I was obsessed with those verses - I would type them up on the computer with some cool graphic designs, then tack them up all over the house."

Arati exclaimed, "It was like you found the meaning of life!"

"Yes!! Exactly! I had found the meaning of life!" We both laughed. "That is exactly it!"

Then came the whammy question: "May I ask, are your parents favorable to you being a devotee?"

I paused.

There was no way around this one. "Well, uh... actually... my parents are devotees,"

It took a moment for this to register. Then she said, "So you are a... gurukuli?"

I sighed. "I guess."

"Oooohhh..." she said.

I became a tad indignant. "But we must all make a choice, yes? We all make a choice to devote our lives to the Lord, no matter what walk of life we come from... even if we are born into this movement."

She smiled and nodded. "Yes. Absolutely. I was born into this Indian culture, but I have found the essence here."

"You see? The essence is that we both want to love God, whether we're Indian or gurukuli." I said. "So we are the same."

That wasn't just a smart philosophical answer. The words came from my heart. No mridanga required. 

Perfect Words

I attended my first 24 Hour Kirtan over the radio.

In 2008 I was in Hawaii at my parent's, where I had just undergone foot surgery. I was bedridden. So I tuned into a rather thin online broadcast of the 24 Hour Kirtan in New Vrindavan; I expected a bunch of fancy melodies and fancy drum beats, and I was ready to tune out again.

But what came out of my speakers was the first time I ever heard a kirtan by Madhava. Goosebumps ran down my arms. The holy name was for real.

As I lay there in my bed, I wondered when I would attend a 24 Hour Kirtan. What would I do? I cringed at the thought of only going to socialize, like any other festival. I wanted to absorb myself completely in the holy name because after all, it IS a festival of the holy name.

I decided that I would take a vow of silence, mauna vrata, and speak only the holy name.

Over the past two years I have attended half a dozen 24 or 12 hour kirtans, and each time I have taken a vow of silence. Each festival, my experience of the holy name becomes more profound.

It has always been my dream, though, to share the beauty of this experience with others. But it's kind of a hard sell, if you know what I mean - silence for 24 hours at a major festival?? Impossible!

But last October, my friend Nanda Priya finally decided to take the vow with me at a 24 Hour Kirtan. Our experience was beautiful, and I felt so amazed to share this depth of the holy name with another person.

**

Last weekend, 30 youth boarded the Youth Ministry bus to head down to Miami for Rathayatra and the 12 Hour Kirtan. A bunch of us girls gathered around our bunkbeds and discussed the upcoming kirtan festival. I didn't even bring up the vow of silence - Nanda did.

"Mauna vrata is amazing," she said. "Someone asked me last October if I had had fun, but I just thought, 'No!' I didn't have fun. It was deep and profound,"

"I agree," I said thoughtfully. "It's not fun, it's deep."

We all engaged in lively discussion and suddenly - everyone decided to do it.

So when Sunday morning rolled around, six of us tied on our little wristbands that said, "Vow of Silence."

In all of my experiences of mauna vrata, the vow has been austere, deep, profound, and it has moved my soul. But suddenly, the vow DID become fun.

I had the time of my life!

Whenever the six of us would convene after hours and hours of kirtan, we would all just call out, "Krishna, Krishna! Radhe Radhe!" in varying tones of question or exclamation. We would laugh and gesture and say the Lord's name some more. At one point, it truly struck me how this is the spiritual world - everyone only wants to talk about Krishna.

And it never gets old.

On the bus ride back that evening after the festival, the six of us gathered around our bunkbeds to share our realizations. Everyone had had their own challenges, but we all drew a unanimous conclusion: We had not wanted the Festival to end. We had all wanted to keep saying only the Lord's name...

...if just for a while longer.

So, my dear reader, maybe the next time I see you at a festival of the holy name, feel free to come up to me and show me your wristband. I'm sure our conversation will be perfect.    

A Candid Conversation

February 26th

Dear Bhakti,

Why are you not writing anymore or barely writing? Your writings are very good and thought-provoking.

Your servant,
Partha-sarathi dasa


March 8th 

Dear Partha-sarathi, I've been thinking about this for a long while. Just now I went to Seed of Devotion, and for once I just observed my blog. I looked at the "Archives" side gadget, and I realized that since 2008 my number of posts per year have steadily decreased.

I'm not sure why.

I'll reflect on it.

Thank you for your encouragement, Prabhu.

Bhakti lata


March 8th

Dear Bhakti lata, your writings show the inner sentiments that belong to a second generation devotee (I hate the word gurukuli, sorry) who is trying to find her place in Krishna Consciousness... and along the way experiencing so much mercy.

I have followed your blog since it started, and I can see how your writing has become more thought-provoking and internal.

If for nothing else, write because Srila Prabhupada says that writing about Krishna purifies our heart.

Forgive me for writing to you, considering that I don't think we've ever met, but I hate to see talented devotees not using their wonderful talents more... if that makes any sense.

Your servant,
Partha-sarathi dasa


March  8th

This is beautiful, thank you. Actually, I feel through this conversation thread I have really stepped back and evaluated my journey with Seed of Devotion, and what direction I'm really going in.

You are right, Srila Prabhupad says we need to write our realization. It's scary to share our heart, but it's even more scary to let our talent to serve Krishna go to waste.

Thank you for your candid honesty.

Bhakti lata

Vyasa Puja Offering 2010

Dear Radhanath Swami,

Please accept my respects, and please offer my humble respects to Srila Prabhupad.

A couple years ago, there was a fad here in America where thousands, even millions, of people decided to wear bracelets embroidered with the letters: “WWJD?”

What Would Jesus Do?

I guess it was a reminder to Christians to be compassionate and loving, and to act in such a way to exemplify the life of Christ every moment of their lives. But I have come to believe that we can apply this principle to anyone that we admire as a beacon of love and compassion. So for the past year, something rather spontaneous has happened: more and more I ask myself a similar question: “WWRNSD?”

What Would Radhanath Swami Do?

Every day, I apply this question to the decisions I make in my life, from school and career choices, down to how I interact with the cashier at Wal-Mart. It has been a revolutionary experience for my heart.

I feel inspired by your example because I can’t help but feel that that every moment of your life you are living by the principles taught by Srila Prabhupad. And for you to stay in touch with those principles, and to apply them practically into your life, maybe every day you ask yourself, “WWSPD?”

What Would Srila Prabhupad Do?  

Isn’t that the most beautiful question?

Sincerely,

Bhakti lata dasi

Welcome to Mayapur

So. For the past several days I have been editing my first video blog post, "Welcome to Mayapur," which is a kind of sequel to "Welcome to Vrindavan." I'm rather new to video editing, so I've had a huge learning curve. This means I have been swimming in the sounds and images and memories and realizations of Mayapur

all

day

long. 

My mind is 100% absorbed in Mayapur. All I can think about is Gaura Nitai's mercy, Their unconditional love, and how much I want to go back. 

I have truly felt that even if this video only gets like, 7 hits, that actually doesn't matter. What matters is how I have been so immersed in the mood of Mayapur.

So now I feel honored to share this humble video with all of you.

(E-mail subscribers will need to click through to this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIXc8HHcP0Q)

The Honey Jar

This is a copy of a map that Radhanath Swami drew in 2008 for some guests that were staying at the Chowpatty Temple in Mumbai. The little arrow points to a very special temple with very special deities who are close to Radhanath Swami's heart.

And so one cool Vrindavan morning, with map in hand, a group of us boarded rickshaws and made our way through the twisting back alleys towards Moti Kund. We deboarded at the vast and empty Moti Kund, and while the others sped ahead, I walked as slowly as I could. I breathed and soaked in the moment. Here I was, at last.

We walked around to the open metal gates, and entered a vast and quiet yard with a giant tree that loomed over the temple. Two boys greeted us - one was older (maybe 12), in his traditional clothes of kurta and lunghi, and the younger one (maybe 9) wore Western garb. The older boy seemed to be the pujari of the temple, because he ushered us inside, then circled around and opened the deity doors.

A picture of Ghanashyam Baba was on the altar, and the deities of Radha Gopijana Vallabha smiled upon us. I felt like I needed to sit and stay awhile, though, to reach any of the honey in this jar. So I asked if we could sing Jaya Radha Madhava, since one of the lines calls out "jaya gopi jana vallabha..."

After about five minutes, to our surprise, the two boys carried in an old, beat-up dholak drum and 3 pairs of kartals on tattered strings. The pujari boy asked me, "Harmonium?" Stunned, I bashfully said no. I continued to sing, this time playing the dholak. After quite some, everyone in the group moved on to visit the temple of Banke Bihari. Still, I was searching for the honey in the jar of this temple. So I stayed. I remained on the floor to chant japa.

From a nearby temple, blasted-out speakers played old recorded bhajans which spindled their way into the templeroom. The melody was beautiful. I kept glancing at the dholak. At last, I put aside my chanting beads and picked up the drum. I sang the the same tune that filled the air.

I got swept away. I sang and sang, and the walls of the vast, empty templeroom echoed back. I kept meaning to stop, because I had to meet up with the others again soon, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

And then... the two boys entered the templeroom again.  The pujari boy unlocked the Deity gates and went right up to the altar and right up to the deities to do something. Then he stepped off the altar, locked the gates again, and walked right up to me.

He held a kanti mala, a pair of sacred neckbeads, in his hand. The other boy looked on with a wide smile.

I stopped singing and the templeroom fell quiet. "I... uh..." I placed my hand on my chest. "For me?"

The pujari boy nodded.

I reached out a hand, and into it he dropped the mala. The string seemed so delicate, each bead handmade. Right then and there, I slipped it over my head. The wood was scratchy against my neck. I folded my palms to both boys and smiled, and they folded their palms and grinned in return. They they dashed off.

I continued to sing, stunned.

In reflection, I feel like what the pujari boy did was something Ghanashyam Baba himself would have done. Ghanashyam would have been so overjoyed that someone - anyone - would come to see His beloved Radha Gopijana Vallabha that he would want to reciprocate in any soulful, humble way he could.

Thank you, Radhanath Swami, for guiding me to that cool and quiet morning in Vrindavan. Thank you for opening the jar.

My Dharma

My Education professor gave the class homework one evening, which was to answer the following question.

Why do you want to be a teacher?

In my culture and religion, the word "dharma" means "duty." But dharma also connotes a more subtle concept. If one has a certain nature, it is also one's duty to act within that nature.

My dharma is to teach. When I teach, I lose track of time. When I teach, nothing else matters but sharing knowledge. When I teach, I am the best I can be. No other profession compares to how I feel when I teach.

Actually, it's to an extreme - if I try to do any other kind of work, I struggle to wake up in the morning. Life drags. I look for excuses to escape.

But I have wanted to be a high school English teacher since I was twelve, in 7th grade. Sometimes I wish I had more flexibility for a possible profession, and I have even been berated before on my stubbornness to stick with teaching. After all, teachers don't get paid much. So one perspective is that I'm inflexible in career choice.

The other perspective is that I have discovered my irrefutable dharma, and I shall hold to that dharma through beauty and through pain.

I guess teachers get all poetic when we're asked this question - Why do you want to be a teacher? - because I think that teaching is one of the most natural dharmas of the soul. It is timeless. Regardless of whether one is a teacher by profession, I have come to this conclusion: learning is the nature of the soul, teaching is the duty of the soul, education is the dharma of every soul.

This is my life's devotion.

And that is why I want to be a teacher.