Goose Fable

A Goose Fable
a story in honor of my spiritual teacher, Radhanath Swami 

Once upon a time there was a young gosling. She would waddle around on the ground with her fellow geese, and there were even elder geese who waddled everywhere they needed to go, from pond, to forest, to field. But every so often, this little gosling would gaze up into the clear blue sky and see high, high above beautiful V’s of birds, stretching out into the sky like fluttering ribbons.

“What kind of birds are those?” she asked one day to an elder goose.

 “Geese,” he replied gruffly. 

“Geese?!” she exclaimed. “Like me? Like us?”

“Do not worry,” he said. “You have everything you need here on the ground. There’s no need to gallivant off into the sky like that. Those geese are eccentric.”

But the more the little gosling watched those birds fly by, the desire blossomed in her heart that she also wanted to fly. She felt that there was more to life than waddling around on the ground. After all, she had wings.

She began to feel the determination that surely the goose at the very tip of the V formation in the sky could teach her how to fly. So one day she stepped out into the wilderness to search for this V-leader.

At last, she came upon a great enclave of geese and was lead to a little clearing by the river, with some rushes laid out on the ground. When the little gosling saw the great V-leader goose, her heart trembled but she spoke out bravely, “May I be your student? Would you teach me how to fly? I know that my destiny must be beyond the ground, but I’ve only ever been told that everything I need is on the ground. I want to fly free, experience something beyond my little pond and forest.”

The V-leader goose observed her carefully. His golden-brown eyes seemed to twinkle and see straight through to her heart. “You were meant to fly, little one. I will teach you,” he intoned.

“Truly?”

“Yes!” He unfurled his great white and dark brown wings. “Let us begin!” Even though the great V-leader goose was responsible for an entire gaggle of geese, he would still take time out of his busy day to teach her the principles of flight and language of sacred honking. “Honk when you are in distress so that other geese may hear you and come for you. Also, We honk when we fly together, to keep our spirits up and unite our hearts,”

Finally, the day came when, with the goose leader and the entire gaggle of geese there as witness, the little gosling leaped off of a cliff. She fumbled and tumbled through the air. She honked and suddenly her wing caught on a warm updraft of air. She honked again and her wings righted and she rose high, high, high, up past where the great V-leader goose and the entire gaggle watched upon the cliff’s edge. Everyone began to honk wildly. She rose even higher and the little gosling felt as though she was being held in the arms of someone much, much greater than herself, that the longing she had felt all her life to be more than a goose in a gaggle was fulfilled.

Suddenly, the warm wind dropped away, and the little gosling found herself tumbling through the air. Terrified, she somehow kept her wits about her and remembered the teachings how to land. She shakily maneuvered back to where the great V-leader and all the other geese were waiting.

“How was it?” the V-leader asked gently.

“Amazing,” she said, wide-eyed.

“And?” he prodded.

“Very scary,”

“Hm. Now is the time to know that there is an even greater destiny than learning how to fly. You see, we geese are big birds. And we fly very, very far. Actually, to fly as far as we fly is impossible according to the laws of physics. “That is why we fly together in V’s. When a goose beats his wings, he sends an updraft of air behind him, which can then be ridden upon by the goose behind. Then the draft behind the wing of that goose helps the person behind him, and on and on until the end of the V. We can increase our range by many, many times over when we stay together.”

The little gosling was quiet, her mind awakening. “But,” she said quietly, “What about the goose in the front? There’s no wind for him to ride?”

“All will be revealed in time,” he replied mysteriously.

The little gosling began to learn from the other geese in the gaggle how to fly in V-formation. It was hard work, to figure out how to cooperate with others’ rhythms, and to work together. Soon, though, her wings became strong and she gained many flying friends.

One day she noticed that the great V-leader would often retire after long training journeys to his little clearing by the river. “Is our great V-leader okay?” she asked a fellow goosemate.

“He is very tired. To be at the tip of the V is so hard. He needs to create an updraft for all of us geese in formation to fly upon. He is trying to train more and more geese to fly at the tip of the V, but we can be slow learners. Many of us want to fly as far back in the V as possible. Being the leader may look glorious but it is the hardest work of all. And for our V-leader, he truly does his best to show us and train us and encourage us. So he continues on, year after year.”

A tear slid down the gosling’s beak and dripped off of the tip. “This sounds so terrible. Why would he do such a thing if it is so hard on him? Why?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

So the gosling waddled over to the edge of the V-leader’s little clearing. He was resting in his spot, honking melodiously. The lines around his beak were pronounced, but his golden brown eyes were bright.

“Great goose leader,” the gosling said timidly. “I have a question for you,”

“Anything for you, little one,” he said and beckoned her closer with a great sweep of his wings. 

“How come you do it? How come you work so hard - and you are advancing in age – to lead the V when it is such hard work?”

The V-leader smiled. “I will share with you a secret. There is a greater fulfillment than flying, greater fulfillment than the fun and companionship of riding with other geese, greater fulfillment even than reaching our distant destination. The greatest fulfillment is to strain every muscle in your wings to create an updraft for the goose behind you until you do not know how you will beat your wing one more time. The greatest fulfillment is to honk the sacred song so that the others behind you are encouraged to keep flying, to honk until your voice is gone and you cannot honk anymore.”

“But why, great leader? Why?”

“Love. That’s all there is to it. I love each and every one of you. And, I am also glad that you are no longer stuck waddling around on the ground.” He laughed then, his wings rising and falling with mirth. Then his voice became soft, “In truth, I am not a leader at all. I am only your servant.” The V-leader fell quiet and turned to gaze off into the sky towards the setting sun.

“In truth,” he continued, “a V-leader cannot lead on his or her own. It’s impossible. The V-leader rides upon the wind of grace of our great Lord, who speaks to the hearts of all and gives us the strength to continue on.”

The V-leader became grave and he beckoned the little gosling a little closer. “Do you want to know an even greater secret?” She nodded, eyes wide. “We are all riding the wind of grace of our great Lord but most of us do not know it or feel it. But He is there, holding all of us in His arms.”

The little gosling remembered her first flight, and the feeling she had had of being held by someone so much greater than herself.

“The most beautiful secret of all is that you are learning to fly so that one day, when the time is right, the spirits of great geese will come for you, and then you may join their formation and fly up into the sky to never return to the ground. You shall be supported by the great souls and held in the arms of our great Lord forever.”

 The little gosling’s beak dropped open a bit in wonder.

“For now, though,” the V-leader said kindly, “Just try to beat your wings a little more nicely for the goose behind you.”

Radhanath Swami, thank you for showing me a destiny beyond waddling around on the ground of this material world forever, never using my God-given wings to fly. Thank you for teaching me that my greatest destiny is not only to fly, but to call upon the strength of our great Lord to encourage and support those near to me with love and compassion. I pray that one day I may serve in the way you serve.

Tell It

I walked into a classroom filled with little children all busily working in groups.

"Welcome!" said the teacher with a smile. "You're here for observation, right? To see if you want the job as a part-time teacher? Well, you can take this group here in the library, read to them, engage in discussion,"

"Sure, thank you," I replied wobbily. I had never, ever worked with children so young - five and six years old. In my path to being a teacher, I had always focused on high school.

But this was the position that was open - Kindergarten. And I was being warmly persuaded to come on board by practically the entire administration staff of Kahakai Elementary.

So I came for observation, to test the waters.

After I braved my way through the sweet session in the library, we formed a line and marched our way through campus to the computer room to take tests. One little girl with black hair in a high ponytail and almond eyes looked up at me and smiled. When I smiled back, she said, "I love you!" and gave me a hug around the legs.

I was speechless. My cynicism was squelched for several rare moments, enough for me to finally respond, "Well, I love you too!"

She smiled at me again and we continued to walk. I asked, "What is your name?"

"Yuki*," she replied.

"My name is Bhakti," I said.

I shook my head in wonder.

Later that day, I reflected on the experience, accompanied by my old buddy again, Cynicism. This little girl had seen me for a grand total of maybe twenty minutes. She hadn't even known my name. Heck, I hadn't even known her name. How could she say that she loves me? What about boundaries, respect, concern, reciprocation, service... She has no idea what love is! And how could I have said that I loved her back??

And then, I realized that maybe this little girl had indeed taught me about love today:

Simplicity.

Innocence.

An open heart.

Indeed, life is too short to keep love locked inside a too-careful heart. Yuki, I am conquered, you are my teacher!

(*Pen name used for anonymity) 

Throwdown with Fear

Just beyond the pools of light, the wall of black began and continued on for eternity. Fanged wolves and slithering snakes lurked just beyond my vision.

At night in my room when the night swallowed up the world, just outside the window could be a thief. A murderer could be tiptoeing just beyond the bushes, a curved knife in hand.

The dark.

The dark - fear would strike my heart and course through my veins when I needed to go to sleep at night, or dash through a dark patch from one building to another, or walk through the woods on a moonless night. Horror movies and news stories had taught me that the greatest fear was not some twisted monster, but an evil-hearted human. Someone who killed without reason, someone with hatred in his or her heart.

So my fear grew and grew beyond my childhood, and as I got older, the scheme of just WHO was waiting out there in the darkness became even more twisted and terrifying.

One night when I was fifteen, I had to run an errand from one building to another. My destination was down the hill, through a lawn, beyond a row of trees. A sea of total and complete pitch black stood between me and my goal. I had no flashlight. I had to go. Now.

My heart pounded, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I took a deep breath.

I ran.

I ran down the hill, past the trees, and suddenly I halted and knelt down on the grass and fell over my legs, my arms outstretched in some kind of strange obeisance. I took deep breaths, the scent of grass filling my nostrils. The world seemed to whirl unsteadily beneath me.

I'm fed up with you, fear of the dark. 

So sick of you. 

I'm done. 

I sang the Nrisimhadeva Prayers in my mind, which call out to the Lord for protection in body and heart from evil.

I lay there, the seconds growing to minutes. The breeze rustled by and caused the banana leaves to chatter and murmur. Crickets hummed. The wind sighed. The grass was cool beneath my fingers, arms, body.

No one attacked me.

Ummmm....

Duh.

And if anyone DID, I was still protected, for even if my body was hurt, my spirit never would be.

In one breath, I rose to my feet and dusted off the blades of grass stuck to my palms. I looked around at the pitch black, determined where I needed to go, and strode in that direction.

I never feared the dark again.

Even when I went to a haunted house for Halloween. Kind of a bummer. 

Bookworm

I eat books for breakfast.

As a teenager, I used to camp out in bookstores for hours and hours at a time, losing myself among the maze of shelves. I would read sitting on the floor until my bum would ache. When the final Harry Potter book came out, I bought the book and read for 14 hours straight - taking hurried breaks for meals and bathroom - and then read the final words just as dawn was breaking. I have been known to pull all-nighters when a book captures my heart.

But.

This bookworm is picky.

I don't digest textbooks well. I'm not quite sure how I made it through university - I have been known to get verrrrry sleepy reading textbooks. Several times when I was reading textbooks I fell asleep with my head on the open pages and drooled on those algebraic equations and that 18th century literature. Yes, I drooled. Sigh.

This sleepiness even applies to scripture. If I read dense philosophy, I have the physiological reaction of my eyelids getting very, very... heavy. My brain powers down.

I have been frustrated about this for years, especially in regards to scripture. I get bookworm indigestion! Try as I might, I struggle with sleepiness and disengagement.

Recently, I have been cultivating a practice of writing in a Soul journal as an everyday sadhana, as a way to connect with the Lord. It was suggested that I do some prereading before writing, so for several weeks I read from a little inspirational book by Thomas Merton, a Christian mystic.

Then, upon the inspiration of my siksha guru, Gopa Vrindapala Prabhu, I decided to read from the Bhagavad Gita.

The past several nights, I have been astonished.

The Gita has been a page-turner.

I want to just keep reading. I find myself saying, "Okay, one more verse. Oh, this one is the last one, then I'll stop. Okay.... just ONE more..."

I am in shock. Seriously. I have read these verses before, but now somehow I am just intrigued by them. It's not even that I'm using these words directly in my life, or that I HAVE to read and apply these words, or that I have a quota to read... I'm just fascinated! Totally fascinated by the modes of nature, the soul, the Supersoul within the heart...

I'm not quite at the point of reading for 14 hours straight through the night. I'm just proud that my head is not dive bombing and there is no drooling involved. I'm just glad to be very much awake and alive, leaning in to the Bhagavad Gita, my eyes running across the page like a wondrous little girl.

I want that to be my reality. I want to get swallowed up by the magic of Truth.

Perfect Flavor

The process to serve and be served sanctified food with love is called "honoring prasad" in the classical Vaishnava spiritual tradition. I personally consider it to be the culmination of culture and service. I learned this art in my studies in Mayapur, India, so when I helped direct The Radha Krishna Camp for Girls in Brazil, we decided to implement this system of honoring prasad for every single meal for six days.

We may have bit off a liiiiiittle more than we could chew. (No pun intended.)

I taught the girls that for every meal, everyone would sit on mats on the floor in rows. About four girls for each meal would be rotated through the list to be a server of prasad. Each meal, I would train the servers how to approach their fellow campers with each dish and silently and lovingly offer prasad. When all the girls in the camp were completely satisfied, the servers would settle into a short row and then the director of the serve-out (me) got to serve the servers.

On our third day after lunch had been served to the whole camp, I was all set to serve those who had served out. But several of the girls who had been serving lunch kept saying no, no, Bhakti lata sit down, sit down, we will serve you!

I insisted, "No, this is my privilege, this is my service to serve the servers," This was only the third day of camp, and I sensed that the girls needed more training and direction. 

But they were so insistent to serve. At last, I picked one girl, Annapurna,  to serve the servers.

I settled to the rattan mat along with the other servers with curiosity.

Annapurna began to serve us. At one point, she surprised me – several minutes in she handed me a folded napkin. “What’s this?” I asked, shocked.

“It’s to wipe your mouth,” she replied. What? I had never taught her to give out napkins!

Annapurna served attentively and carefully, although naturally there were still some areas to grow into. 

When we had all finished our lunch, I gestured to Annapurna to please sit down.

I would serve her now - I would be the servant of the servant of the servant.

Throughout the process of serving prasad to Annapurna, a competitive urge flared in my heart - I would serve her even better than she had served me! The image kept flashing through my mind of the folded napkin she had placed beside my plate. Determined to outdo her, I brought Annapurna ice cubes for her water. She accepted gratefully. The irony of my lack of humility in being a servant had me laughing to myself and shaking my head.

Once Annapurna had finished lunch and she had pronounced that she was satisfied, an idea struck me. I gathered the other servers and we held a mini-meeting at the dining table.

"Okay girls, let's have a little fun here. Let us discuss Annapurna’s service," I said once we were all gathered. "The goal of serving prasad is to be like salt - absolutely necessary and at the same time completely invisible. If we were to rate Annapurna in terms of her service being like salt, then what is one and what is ten on a scale from 1-10?”

“Ten is best, one is not good?” one girl ventured.

"Think about it, if Annapurna's service is like salt…”

“Ah!" another girl exclaimed, "Ten is too much salt, one is too little,”

“Exactly. What is five?”

“Perfectly balanced, right in the middle.”

“Yes. So we’re each going to give feedback to Annapurna. We'll rate her service on the salt scale from 1-10 and then offer some comments. Do you agree with this, Annapurna?”

"Yes," she replied. 

Girls gave feedback to Annapurna that she had been a little too salty - too many questions, too times being offered the same dish. One girl appreciated Annapurna's attentive kindness and careful mood. Annapurna received her feedback with a stoic face, her blue eyes clear and grave.

"Annapurna," I said. "I experienced your service on the salt scale as a 3.5 – not quite enough salt. I had to often ask for another dish or for more water, and I felt shy and uncomfortable to do so. That said, I was quite surprised when you gave me the napkin! It was thoughtful and sweet. I felt competitive, and decided to serve you even better – I thought, I’m going to serve you ice cubes, so take that!" We all laughed and laughed.

Then I asked Annapurna, “So, if you were to rate my service to you on a scale from 1-10, what would I be? What is your feedback for me?”

"You were a five," she said.

"Please, Annapurna, I want to grow in my service. Please be honest with me,"

"Well," she said, "The ice cubes for my water was nice, you were very attentive, Bhakti lata,"

"Any constructive feedback?" I prodded. The other girls watched in anticipation.

Annapurna fell quiet. At last she said, “You were so serious,”

“Serious?”

“Yes. Maybe you could... smile more,”

I laughed and nodded. “Thank you,” I said. I folded my palms to this girl who had become my guru today. "I shall carefully consider what you have said,"

“Next time," Annapurna said with a grin, "I will fold your napkin into an origami bird,”

We all laughed.

Snapshots and Huge Pictures

Have you ever noticed that I tend to write on my blog about "snapshot" experiences that somehow impact my heart?

Have you ever noticed that I rarely write about the "huge picture" experiences that impact my heart?

Maybe it's because the "snapshot" experiences can be shared simply enough as a full, complete picture.

Invariably, every time I want to write about a "huge picture" experience, I feel like I'm gushing: "Oh my god, it was unbelievable, amazing, I'm speechless, so profound and beautiful and amaaaaaaazing. Life transformative. Wow."

Seriously. That's pretty much how I want to describe Bus Tours, Satvatove seminars, festivals in Alachua, visiting Mayapur, Vrindavan, Mumbai, or South India, an encounter with Radhanath Swami, studying in India, the Mayapur Academy, attending a kirtan festival in Brazil, 24 Hour Kirtans...

All of these experiences are unbelievable, profound, life transformative, amaaaaaazing. They feel so vast though, I wonder where to begin, how I could possibly encompass such a powerful experience in a little blog post. It's as if I'm trying to fit all of those sky-wide emotions into a 300-word post with maybe a couple grainy cell phone pictures.

I'm sure you've had this experience, too - you'll have gone on a vacation and when you return people ask you, "So, how was it?"

What do you say? "It was great." And maybe, if you're like me, you'll say, "It was amaaaaaaazing. Beyond words."

I am having this dilemma in trying to describe the experience of teaching these two Kirtan Connection courses that just concluded. There were 15 people total in 2 levels, and we just had our epic graduation on Sunday. It wasn't a neat experience that I could describe in a couple hundred words.

But I will try. My next blog post I will dedicate to the experience in teaching Kirtan Connection, to honor those who saw me through - Ghanashyam, Dhira Govinda Prabhu, and Badahari Prabhu; those who graduated, and Srila Prabhupad.

Yes, it was a profound experience. Beyond words. At the same time, the service of the writer is to put the un-wordable experiences into words so that others may share in the beauty. That is what Srila Prabhupad did.

I'll do my humble best to share the "huge picture." 

Choose Beauty

I used to hate my hairline. It creeps forward where my temples are and then tapers back out for my forehead. I used to think that it made my face look narrow and imbalanced.

For years and years, ever since I was in elementary school, I wore my hair parted to the side to cover my hairline. It didn't really do anything, but still it was a mental crutch. I thought that somehow I could never really look beautiful if I wore my hair any other way.

As an adult, I seriously considered laser hair removal to remove the hair on my temples. I would go in front of the mirror and place my fingers on my temples, trying to envision what my face would look like with a broad, round hairline. Surely then my face would look more balanced.

Then, about two years ago, I dived into an emotional educational course called the Satvatove Advanced Course, which is based upon the spiritual principles of the Bhagavad Gita. In the course, I deeply got in touch with living a life at choice.

On the last day of the course, my "graduation" day, I woke up, looked in the mirror...

... and pulled my hair back.

All the way.

My scalp tingled. The line where I had parted my hair for most of my life pulsed as if it had been seared upon my head.

I was astonished to find, upon looking in the mirror, that I looked beautiful. No, more than that, I felt beautiful. My eyes shone. Beauty became something that nothing and no one could determine for me, not even the mirror. Beauty is a quality of the soul.

For me, that was a day of liberation.

A year later, I took the next step - I parted my hair down the middle. My scalp tingled all over again.

And then there are some days when I still choose to wear my hair parted to the side.

After all, when the soul is shining through, who cares about your hairline?!?

Worry Surgery

I lean in and place a bracelet around the wrist of Murlidhar, the deity of the Lord here in Manhattan. Trays filled with mirrored cloth and glittering jewelry surround me. The morning is quiet. Even the sounds from the street below are muted.

I reach for Radharani's garland and place it around Her neck. Too long. I take it off, tie it to make it a little shorter. Still too long. I take it off and tie it again.

Now I can barely fit it over Her head. When it finally goes over, the garland is so small that it looks like some strange flower necklace. Radharani looks a little miffed.

"Oh no," I mutter. My face flushes. I shimmy the garland back over Radharani's head, murmuring my apologies.

I rush back to the pujari room and get out a pair of scissors. Maybe I can cut the string, retie it at a longer length... but the flowers are delicate and keep slipping off, the garland is getting shorter and shorter. The thread is slippery and the knots are not staying.

I'm starting to sweat. I feel like I'm in the midst of a surgery gone awry.

My friend Ghanashyam, who is offering worship to the smaller deities this morning, comes into the altar room loaded down with several trays.

"Ghanashyam," I say with a note of panic. "Radharani's garland... I tied it too short, and now I don't know what to do,"

Ever equipoised, Ghanashyam puts down his trays and says, "Oh really?"

"Yes," I say. We both peer down at the garland and discuss a plan of action. "This is garland surgery," I say.

Ghanashyam is working on the garland and then says quietly, "Scissors,"

I get the scissors and hand them to him, grinning, "Scalpel,"

We both laugh.

But even with Ghanashyam's attempts, the garland still seems to not be working right.

"Go do what you need to do," Ghanashyam says. "I'll handle this,"

"Okay," I say, relieved. Radha Murlidhar still need so much more in Their dressing today.

I rush back to the altar. Only fifteen minutes left to make Murlidhar's turban and finish dressing. The clock is ticking. At this point, I realize that Radha Murlidhar are dressing Themselves. There is no way that I could be doing this.

I head back to the altar room, where Ghanashyam holds up the garland, "It's okay now,"

"Really?" my eyes widen. The garland is perfect. "How?"

"I called in the reinforcements - Murali Gopal. He fixed it. Don't know how, but here it is,"

Relief rushes through me. "Thank you," I say reverentially. We both head to the altar, and Ghanashyam hands the garland to me to place around Radharani's neck.

"I'm nervous, why don't you do it," I say.

"Go ahead, it'll be fine."

I gingerly take the garland and gently place it around Radharani.

"Great," Ghanshyam says.

"Thank you," I say again. I continue with dressing. My hands seem to move on their own accord, tying Krishna's turban, placing Radharani's crown, tying up sashes and veils. Ghanashyam and I clean up everything and when I look at the clock to blow the conch shell, it's 8:30 - smack on time. I am in shock.

I blow the conch. Open the curtains.

When I offer the small arati to Radha Murlidhar, I observe how They're dressed from an artistic stance. Although I see so many areas that could be improved, for some reason They simply look perfect. I surrender to how the imperfection is Their perfection.

Back in the pujari room, Ghanashyam remarks to me, "That was a close call with that garland,"

"My God, I know," I reply.

"You were totally in anxiety," He laughs. "Even I began to get in anxiety."

"Amazing." I say. "You know, I've been experiencing so much worry lately about my life, it's almost ghostly. Just constantly plagued with anxiety about where I'm going to live, what I'm going to do. But this... this was worry for Krishna. Strangely enough, I found it almost almost liberating. Like, whew, I can breathe now. I feel clean. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Ghanashyam replies. "Actually, a pujari is in the parental mood, to take care of Krishna and to worry for Him. Our worry for Him can actually be purifying,"

Ever since that morning of dressing Radha Murlidhar and worrying about God, the worry about my own life seems to have dissolved away. Trust remains.

Seems like Krishna did surgery on my worry.

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.

Inspection

My room here at the Bhakti Center was a tornado zone for quite a long time. So much moving had my life in a whirlwind. Boxes, luggage, piles of clothes and bags lay everywhere.

When I had a day off work, immediately I scheduled a trip out of town to buy organizational stuff at a Wal-Mart.

After many hours I came back, holding a long box and laden down with all of my organizational stuff in my suitcase. I stepped out of the elevator onto the sixth floor. In the hallway I encountered a huge crowd of residents.

"Hey guys, is there a party going down?" I called out, jolly.

Virabhadra grinned at me. "We're here to greet you, Bhakti lata!"

"Ha ha, nice. No seriously, what's up?"

Just then, all heads turned to the apartment door 6W and everyone fell a little quiet - Radhanath Swami emerged.

"Oh, haribol Maharaj," I said.

"Bhakti lata, where have you been?" he asked.

"I was at Wal-Mart. I bought a lot of organizational stuff for my room."

His eyes went wide. "Can I come see your room?"

"God no, Maharaj," I replied with a little laugh. "It's a tornado zone."

"No really, I'd like to come see your room,"

I laughed again, still thinking that he was joking. "Ah, sorry my dear gurumaharaj, but my room is a mess."

Radhanath Swami took up the handle of my rolling luggage. My eyes went wide.

"Let's go," he said.

I walked forward towards my apartment, my feet becoming heavy with each step. Maharaj rolled my luggage behind me. My mind raced - my room, my room, God forbid was there anything embarrassing lying around, like underwear? Sure, I could've firmly said no, but this seemed to be very important to Maharaj. He had been inquiring about my living situation from the moment he had reached the Bhakti Center.

We entered apartment 6E and I walked towards my room. My friend Nanda joined us. "Maharaj, I just bought all this organizational stuff, I swear!"

He just smiled, maneuvering my luggage over some shoes on the floor. Then with a pounding heart, I slowly opened the door to my little room. He came over and peeked inside. Nanda also came and we exchanged nervous looks. My room was a madhouse. My stomach dropped.

Maharaj turned to me and lifted his brows, then stepped inside to turn on the lamp. He peered around and then stepped even deeper into my room, standing in the very center of the chaos. "Hm, no windows..."

I held bated breath. Then he came around and peered into other crevices of the tiny room, leaving no spot unobserved. I felt like I was getting X-rayed.

He emerged.

"Calling this room a mess is like calling the ocean a puddle," he remarked, then laughed, his eyes twinkling.

Only Radhanath Swami could make a poetic analogy out of this. I laughed too.

Maharaj then systematically went through the rest of the apartment, observing the piles of bags in the hallway, the unswept floors. He seemed to be catching us off-guard - who we were when no one was looking. There was something stinging and yet also relieving about him being there, like hydrogen peroxide cleaning a cut.

At the end of his inspection, he turned to me and said, "Bhakti lata, I would do anything for you,"

I fell silent, and my heart echoed with the unspoken words, Please just let me be near Radha Murlidhar. Please let me be here or nearby.

Then Maharaj turned around and said, "Well, we had our pastimes," then he chuckled and left apartment 6E.

what is love? - a vlog post

I once heard that life is not so much the answers that we get but the questions that we live in.

Today I decided to venture around the Lower East Side of Manhattan to ask the most timeless and - in my opinion - the most important question ever.

So I ask you: what is love?

[if you don't see the vlog post below, click through to here: http://youtu.be/FhdbJ1h9PIw]

Rebellion

Seed of Devotion.

I've loved the name of my blog since I created it over five years ago. Not only is it easy to spell, easy to pronounce, and sounds nice, the significance is beautiful and personal - this title is my name (Bhakti lata bij) translated from the ancient Sanskrit language.

Over the years in a natural evolution, I began to focus and share solely my realizations about my spiritual journey on Seed of Devotion.

Then, a couple weeks ago, I began to feel trapped by the name of this blog.

You could say I have felt trapped by my own name.

Bhakti - "Devotion".

I've been going through a period of rebelliousness and questions on my spiritual path - it's uncomfortable and painful, believe me. And every time I came to post on this blog, I felt physically nauseous at the thought of forcing myself to write something "devotional". What's more, I felt sick at the thought that people may think I'm so devotional (gag) because after all, that's the name of this blog.

Seed of Devotion, right?

So in all honesty, I created my sister blog and writing experiment, 30 Day X-ray, as my way of breaking free of the bounds I've created for myself. The premise of 30 Day X-ray is to write every single day for 30 days, an "x-ray" of my life, so to speak. I wanted to give myself the freedom to write about anything I chose, from umbrellas to romance to God.

Day 23 into my experiment and I just have to laugh.

Seriously, I've been chuckling for the past couple days.

All that I really want to write about on 30 Day X-ray is my spiritual journey.

[snort] Some rebellion.

Ultimately, spirituality is about being real, man. Just be REAL. Be HONEST. After all, isn't authenticity the seed of devotion?

So whether on 30 Day X-ray or on Seed of Devotion, I give myself permission to write about umbrellas and romance and God. After all, devotion to God is at my very essence, that is the nature of my soul. And your soul, too. There's no escaping bhakti.

Thank God.

My First Birthday

In Hawaiian tradition, when a baby reaches its first birthday, the family throws a huge luau and the whole community celebrates. When I lived in Hawaii, I didn't understand why "baby luaus" were so common and such a huge deal - I mean, the baby itself wouldn't even remember the event!

Then one day my mom told me, "Well, for a baby to survive its first year is a big deal. After that, the baby grows and becomes stronger and can contribute to the community. But that first year is crucial."

Suddenly I understood the tradition and culture of Hawaiian blessings.

In Vaishnava tradition, another term for a brahmin is "twice-born." When one receives initiation by a qualified spiritual master, the disciple transcends his or her material birth and takes spiritual birth. Thus, "twice-born."

One year ago, on May 31st, 2010, I received spiritual initiation by His Holiness Radhanath Swami. In many ways, I emerged from my initiation feeling so fragile, so not ready to take on the world and the internal challenges that the year ahead would throw at me.

Upon reflection, I realize that I am that one-year-old baby, so immature and dependent and young.

***

"Bhakti lata devi," Radhanath Swam intones into the microphone. "And also would her parents come forward."

Six or seven initiates have gone before me - my heart has been pounding with anticipation for what feels like forever. I rise from my seat and my parents rise from theirs. I feel numb that after so many years of prayer, this moment has finally come.

I settle before my spiritual master; someone hands me a microphone. I take a deep breath and say, "I vow to chant a minimum of - 16 rounds - " my voice chokes up, and heavy tears sting my eyes. My journey to chanting 16 rounds has spanned many years with many crises of faith in the holy name. Radhanath Swami himself has witnessed this journey every step of the way. I continue, " - of the maha mantra - every single day, for all of my life,"

In the silence, Maharaj gives me a playful smile. He teases, "It's not that hard."

Roars of laughter rise from the hundreds gathered in the templeroom. I begin to laugh too, but there's a part of my heart that sinks - It's not that hard? Are you kidding me?? Chanting 16 rounds not that hard? But - but - what about...? 

When the laughter subsides, Maharaj says lovingly, "Everyone's cheering you on!"

With that, cheers and the thrum of mridangas and kartals sweep through the templeroom. They rise and rise and wash over me in wave upon wave. My feverish heart cools and softens with the blessings of the Vaishnavas.

When the templeroom falls quiet once more, I finish my vows with a strong and clear voice: "I vow to follow the 4 regulative principles of no intoxication, no gambling, no meat eating, and no illicit sex. I vow to imbibe the mood of the servant and be loyal to Srila Prabhupad, Sri Guru, and all of the Vaishnavas."

Radhanath Swami smiles. He turns to my parents and glorifies their talents, their marriage, their devotion, and the way they have raised me. He turns to me. "Bhakti lata is an emerging leader in her community. She loves to sing, loves to serve, loves to dance... loves Krishna." He pauses and smiles. "You were born to love Krishna,"

I feel abashed and humbled.

In the tradition of love and respect, Radhanath Swami requests that I take the dust of the feet of my parents. I touch the feet of my mother and father and embrace each one. They are my original gurus.

When I settle before my spiritual master once more, he pulls out a pair of dark, rough wooden chanting beads. These are the beads that he chanted on this morning, and the beads that I pray to chant on for the rest of my life. "I don't have the heart to change your name, " he says, "So on behalf of Srila Prabhupad and the guru parampara, your name is Bhakti lata devi dasi,"

He holds out my beads, I hold out my palms, and I receive my chanting beads amidst an ocean of cheers and blessings.

Upon the strength of those blessings, I have held to my vows through beautiful pain and beautiful peace. I feel as though I'm throwing myself a "baby luau" in my heart, because somehow, I've made it!

Upon the strength of the guru parampara and the holy name, I've made it! Hallelujah!

I pray to become only stronger and stronger in my vows - yes, even chanting 16 rounds. I vowed to chant a "minimum" of 16 rounds - now I chant beyond that number simply because I want to. 

After all, it's not that hard.

Memo

The Varsana Rockstar

There's this girl in Chowpatty by the name of Rupa Manjari who has been born and raised a devotee of Krishna. She's devoted to her guru, Radhanath Swami, and she's addicted to Varsana, bhajans, and kirtans. She plays dholak and mridanga (two-sided drums), violin, and sings in classical Hindustani style. I call her the Varsana Rockstar.

One hot Mumbai afternoon, we were taking the taxi from her house to the temple for the Sunday Feast. She was drumming her fingers against the dashboard, gazing out the window. Suddenly she twisted in her seat and mused to me, "You know, if I was given one benediction, I would pray that any surface I touched could sound and be played like a dholak."

She grinned then, and I couldn't help but grin back and laugh. Rockstar through and through.

(note: e-mail subscribers will need to click through to seedofdevotion.blogspot.com to view the above video)

LOL!

I know this post is a bit out of character, but humor me. I tend to be a very serious person (if you haven't noticed). But I am a huge fan of LOL cats. I think you will be, too, after checking out a selection of my favorites. 

Please tell me you're Laughing Out Loud. 

There, my day was successful!

Vote for your favorite. 

An Interview on Marriage With My Parents

35 years later....

Seeing that this year will be the 35th wedding anniversary of my parents, I figured they must have gotten something right. They were married at 18 and 20 (my mom the older) with my father fresh off the boat from Spain and very little English. They became devotees of Krishna together, raised three children, and pioneered several business ventures together, among other things. I think they've been put through the mill a thousand times... and are stronger for it.

So I decided to interview them on their experience.

I introduce to you Maheshvara Dasa and Brihan Naradiya Purana Dasi.

1. What does being married for 35 years mean to you?
Mom: It means to have a personal evolution with someone. Both of us have changed; we are not the same person we were 35 years ago: physically, spiritually, emotionally... we have evolved together. The emphasis is that we're not different - we have evolved.

Also, children are Krishna's way of making you humble [laughs]. It's an opportunity to realize how dependent you are on Him.

Dad: It means commitment to be together for the sake of a family and a loving relationship.


2. What keeps your relationship inspiring?
Mom: How we work together and support each other. With music, his business, my business, we communicate.
Dad: Music is integral to our life together. Kirtans and our spiritual experiences.

3. How does Krishna impact your marriage?
Mom: Krishna aligns us.
Dad: We feel most inspired when we play music for Krishna.


4. What gets you through the hard times?
Dad: Don't take things personally. Physiologically, men and women are just different. We both come with our own backgrounds. So take things in stride.
Mom: I agree. Be detached and just CHILL OUT.

5. What is advice you can give to anyone who wants to get married?
Mom: Check astrology - Chinese and Vedic.
Dad: Don't check astrology! [laughs]

Last words of wisdom?
Dad: PURE LUCK. We are the luckiest people in the world because we found each other.

Mom: I agree.

note: these pictures were taken in 07, not 02.

My three favorite quotes on this matter:
"Whenever you give your time, you are making a sacrifice, and sacrifice is the essence of love." Unknown

"If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don't, they never were." Kahlil Gibran

"To love is not to look at one another, but to look together in the same direction." Antoine de Saint-Exupery

An English Major's Humor

Last Friday I graduated with Honors from Santa Fe College with an Associate of Arts degree. The following was posted on my favorite professor's office door.

A linguistics professor was lecturing to his class one day. "In English," he said, "A double negative forms a positive. In some languages though, such as Russian, a double negative is still a negative. However," he pointed out, "There is no language wherein a double positive can form a negative."

A voice from the back of the room piped up, "Yeah. Right."

Time Machine

Preface: I have long considered my journal a window to which I can glimpse a world that has already passed. Five years ago, I wrote the following journal entry at the age of 16, which takes place in Hilo, Hawaii. So, glimpse this!

After a crazy day, Kisore and I snuggle into our sleeping bags in the guest house, murmuring our thoughts on the Bhagavad-Gita. We're just about to drift off when -

"Giriraj! Oh, Giriraj! Where are you?" Gopa calls out for her seven-year-old nephew, far away.

Kisore says, "Well, at least it's Krishna's name,"

The blood slows in our veins and our muscles relax... I smile contentedly, like I've done the entire day.

"GIRIRAJ, WHERE ARE YOU?" Gopa cries again.

Kisore shoots up from bed. "I'm getting worried. What happened? I'm going down there,"

Just then, Govinda and Radhika huff up the stairs. "Have you seen Giriraj?"

"No, what happened?"

"We were upstairs at Jagadhatri's talking when we saw Giriraj slip out the door. We thought he was just going downstairs. Then we realized how quiet it was. We went down to check on him, but nobody was home."

"But what about Gaurangi, his mother?"

"She had left ten minutes earlier. And it was so quiet."

"Oh my god, is there anything we can do to help?" Kisore gasps.

"I-I guess. We have to look for him again... we already searched the neighborhood and my mom checked downtown," Govinda says. Her hands twist the edge of her shawl.

"You can't get a hold of Gaurangi?" I ask, concerned but still a little skeptical.

"No, she's not home yet. No cell phone," Govinda replies.

So I stumble out the door in half-on tennis shoes, pajamas, and a chaddar, incredulous and sighing. What could I possibly do? But it would be unspeakably rude to roll my eyes and just go back to bed.

At Jagadhatri's, the air is filled with stifled panic. Shikandi, Giriraj's grandmother, shrieks to "call 911!" as she gets in the car with Gopa to search the neighborhood. That scream shoots adrenaline to my toes and fingertips.

Soon, the cops arrive... and more cops arrive. Neighbor by neighbor, three blocks switch on their lights, asking what he looks like, learning to pronounce his name, some even grabbing flashlights to join in on the search as two ambulances arrive and even a firetruck. Why on earth we would need a firetruck for a missing child baffles me and awes me at the same time.

It's been an hour... two hours... the rescue team still can't get hold of Giriraj's parents. The cops head out to their house, which is over an hour away.

Around 11:30pm, I'm downstairs at the house where it all started, where the little boy had disappeared, and I feel scared and helpless, alone and in my pajamas. Forty policemen are combing the area for the fifth time, the entire neighborhood calling out "Giriraj! Giriraj!" and I hear that they're going to send for a helicopter to search the river if nothing happens soon.

And then, from upstairs: "Sridham?" I sit up, tense. Sridham is Giriraj's father. "What? Giriraj is with you? Okay..."

I jump with a whoop and this huge sensation of relief.

"WE FOUND HIM!!" Gopa cries out from above me on the porch as I dash to the street. Giriraj is safe!! I'm bent on finding Kisore and dragging her gleefully back to the guest house to just go to bed!

As I reach the street, I stop dead, a horrific, horrific sense of embarrassment flooding me.

Oh. My. God. The entire neighborhood.

"The entire neighborhood!" I exclaim, making my way up to Kisore. I grab her arm and pull her up the street - she calls out, "Sorry! Sorry! Goodnight!!" I want to strangle her! Now we REALLY sound like two hare-brained flops of teenagers.

But I laugh the whole way, "I'm not related, I'm not related..."

The stars twinkle bright as we collapse onto our bed, hot and awake. How crazy! We stay up a bit more, discussing the insanity of it all.

And I laugh, like I have all day.

The Vrindavan Virus

I arrive just as the pujari blows the conch to end Sayana Arati (late evening). Tulasi turns to smile with me as we take darshan of our beautiful Radhe-Shyam. After some moments of quiet, she says, "My Guru Maharaj [Bhakti Bhringa Govinda Swami] is coming in on Monday, Bhakti. "

A pang of regret twinges through me. "I'm leaving on Monday, Tulasi," I reply.

"Ah yes, I remember... you couldn't stay even one more day?"

I laugh softly. "My flight leaves at 7am sharp... I will miss him, Tulasi. I truly will. I had the opportunity to play some bhajans with him in Panihati, and I was struck by his sweet, serene mood."

Tulasi sighs, smiling.

In the pause, my mind turns to Radhanath Swami. I say slowly, "You know, I'll be missing my own guru maharaj by a matter of days, too. The next time I see him it will have been... " I take a deep breath. "... two years."

"Well, this summer was the first time I saw my guru maharaj in five years," she says.

"Yeah, but you were saying you were neighbors for a while," I counter saucily.

Tulasi grins. "Yes, for twelve years, in Vrindavan. If he wanted something, sometimes he would call over from his house. 'Hey, Tulasi, do you have any butter?'"

We both chuckle. "I want to go back," Tulasi says softly. We fall quiet again, gazing at Radhe Shyam. "You know what my guru maharaj says is the most dangerous virus?" Tulasi asks as the pujari rings the bell to draw the curtains closed.

"What is that?"

"The Vrindavan Virus. Once you get it, you have it for the rest of your life; it consumes your entire life to return to Vrindavan."

I laugh at B.B. Govinda Maharaj's wit and offer my obeisance to Radhe-Shyam. I say to Tulasi, "Oh, one day I hope to get the Vrindavan Virus," I say wistfully.

She looks at me. "You already have it."