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.

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