Planet ISKCON

I’m getting ready to go up to Hudson to paint a mural at Sadhana Yoga. I’ve only done a few murals so I’m a little nervous, but excited too. Any large canvas is a freeing experience to create on, and walls are as good as any. Body parts even better!

The theme of the mural is the sacred grafitti found in the holy town of Vrindavan. The divine names of Radha and Krishna are painted there on almost every wall, tree trunk, lamp post and rickshaw hood. For many renunciates that spend their days there, the main service that they perform is to paint and repaint these names with coarse brushes and a small steel tiffin of paint. Sometimes they are painted in English, more often in Sanskrit.

In Hudson, I’ve been asked to paint them in Sanskrit, even though most people that see it won’t be able to read it. Sanskrit is written in a script called Devanagari, said to originate in the heavens. For this reason, the lines themselves are considered to be purifying to look at, even if they are nothing but pretty curves to the beholder. A sacred word, like ‘om’ is considered to be the same in quality, whether written, heard, spoken or just seen.

Aside from divine names, I’m also planning to incorporate another touch of Vrindavan – green parrots! These beautiful birds used to be present everywhere there – screeching and twittering on every branch and phone line. I remember a book I used to read as a little girl – ‘But Where Is Green Parrot?’ These days they hide in real life too, but you can still see the telltale flashes of of electric lime in the trees in the less inhabited areas of Vrindavan. In the stories of Radha and Krishna, they often act as messengers, carrying secrets between friends and lovers or acting as confidantes.

Parrots have the wonderful ability to remember language and repeat it, something that is both celebrated and looked down upon in bhakti yoga teachings. Sukadeva (literally, best of the parrots), the reciter of one of the most important bhakti texts, the Srimad Bhagavatam, is praised for his feat of speaking the text for seven days and nights continuously, imparting the wisdom just as he received it from his teachers. But the same teachings also warn us not to become parrot-like and repeat things that we hear without deeply understanding and internalising them.

 

I’m getting ready to go up to Hudson to paint a mural at Sadhana Yoga. I’ve only done a few murals so I’m a little nervous, but excited too. Any large canvas is a freeing experience to create on, and walls are as good as any. Body parts even better!

The theme of the mural is the sacred grafitti found in the holy town of Vrindavan. The divine names of Radha and Krishna are painted there on almost every wall, tree trunk, lamp post and rickshaw hood. For many renunciates that spend their days there, the main service that they perform is to paint and repaint these names with coarse brushes and a small steel tiffin of paint. Sometimes they are painted in English, more often in Sanskrit.

In Hudson, I’ve been asked to paint them in Sanskrit, even though most people that see it won’t be able to read it. Sanskrit is written in a script called Devanagari, said to originate in the heavens. For this reason, the lines themselves are considered to be purifying to look at, even if they are nothing but pretty curves to the beholder. A sacred word, like ‘om’ is considered to be the same in quality, whether written, heard, spoken or just seen.

Aside from divine names, I’m also planning to incorporate another touch of Vrindavan – green parrots! These beautiful birds used to be present everywhere there – screeching and twittering on every branch and phone line. I remember a book I used to read as a little girl – ‘But Where Is Green Parrot?’ These days they hide in real life too, but you can still see the telltale flashes of of electric lime in the trees in the less inhabited areas of Vrindavan. In the stories of Radha and Krishna, they often act as messengers, carrying secrets between friends and lovers or acting as confidantes.

Parrots have the wonderful ability to remember language and repeat it, something that is both celebrated and looked down upon in bhakti yoga teachings. Sukadeva (literally, best of the parrots), the reciter of one of the most important bhakti texts, the Srimad Bhagavatam, is praised for his feat of speaking the text for seven days and nights continuously, imparting the wisdom just as he received it from his teachers. But the same teachings also warn us not to become parrot-like and repeat things that we hear without deeply understanding and internalising them.

 

My new article from Beliefnet

Twice a week, as part of our outreach of Hindu culture from our monastery in the East Village, myself and a few other monks teach classes on the art of vegetarian cuisine at Columbia University and New York University.  We also try to share some of the essential tenets of the vegetarian/vegan life from some of the great traditional sources of the Vedas, such as the Bhagavad-Gita. We mix in with this knowledge a wide breath of moral, economic, and environmental reasons to support the vegetarian/vegan ideal

We do this with an eye to perhaps convince our friends to try to experience the values and benefits of a vegetarian diet, and for those already on the path, to show them the depth of their commitment and the potential for real change that comes by not eating our fair animal comrades.

My own journey into vegetarianism began with a lot of doubt and a little help from my friends. I was once of those students receiving delicious Indian vegetarian fare from Hindu monks at the University of Michigan, but having come from a different culinary background, the food they offered simply bewildered me.  Over time, my monk friends won me over to their heartfelt offerings as they explained more of the culture behind it, and I also just came to realize the food was really, really good.

As I began to explore a commitment to vegetarianism, I had the good fortune of being surrounded by friends who were already engaged as vegetarians and vegans.  I was also in a progressive college community where there were plenty of restaurants and groceries which catered to the vegetarian lifestyle.  As I moved on into the lifestyle of a Hindu monk, I started to learn how to cook, which helped me to further appreciate the colorful, savoury, and rich depth of the vegetarian cuisine of India and of the rest of the world.

So it is with an immense sense of gratitude from my own end that I now am able to return the favor to all those who guided me towards the vegetarian ideal, by teaching its art and depth of knowledge to some of Manhattan's brightest.  At the foundation of our presentation is a unique understanding of the value of ahimsa, or non-violence, as presented in the Gita.  Going beyond the foundation of not causing any physical, mental, or psychological harm to any living creature, the deeper understanding of ahimsa lies in the understanding of the progressive, enlightened transmigration of the soul through the process of reincarnation.

The Vedas describe a progressive evolution of the soul through different microbial, plant, and animal forms to the human form of life, which is considered an ideal body for spiritual realization.  The soul naturally progresses, by instinct and divine guidance, through increasingly complex forms of life before coming to the human stage.  Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, in his translation of the Gita, explains what happens when that progression is stopped by acts of violence:

"Real ahiḿsā means not checking anyone's progressive life. The animals are also making progress in their evolutionary life by transmigrating from one category of animal life to another. If a particular animal is killed, then his progress is checked. If an animal is staying in a particular body for so many days or so many years and is untimely killed, then he has to come back again in that form of life to complete the remaining days in order to be promoted to another species of life. So their progress should not be checked simply to satisfy one's palate. This is called ahiḿsā."

By living a vegetarian lifestyle, we not only refrain from harming our animal friends physically, but also spiritually. Naturally the question arises about plant life, and the potential harm that might be caused to them for the needs of our own body.  Of course, we know that some fruits and vegetables fall right from the plant or tree, causing no harm in and of itself.  For the other forms of plant life who do give their life for our sustenance, the Hindu tradition tells us that we should prepare and cook these gifts as an offering to God in love and devotion.  If done in this mood, God blesses the offering, insuring that the fruits, grains, and vegetables used in the offering continue their spiritual progression.

With our cooking classes, our hope is that our friends there can understand that our offering of vegetarian food has benefits that go beyond the taste buds.  We know that the way to a person's heart is through their stomach, and hopefully we can also help them understand that the way to knowledge and respect of the soul also comes through the food that they eat.

Chris Fici is a writer/teacher/monk in the bhakti-yoga tradition. He has been practicing at the Bhaktivedanta Ashram at the Bhakti Center in New York City since 2009.  After receiving a degree in film studies at the University of Michigan, Chris began his exploration and study of the bhakti tradition. He currently teaches classes on the culture and art of vegetarian cooking, as well as the living philosophy of the Bhagavad-Gita, at New York University and Columbia University.

My new article from Beliefnet

Twice a week, as part of our outreach of Hindu culture from our monastery in the East Village, myself and a few other monks teach classes on the art of vegetarian cuisine at Columbia University and New York University.  We also try to share some of the essential tenets of the vegetarian/vegan life from some of the great traditional sources of the Vedas, such as the Bhagavad-Gita. We mix in with this knowledge a wide breath of moral, economic, and environmental reasons to support the vegetarian/vegan ideal

We do this with an eye to perhaps convince our friends to try to experience the values and benefits of a vegetarian diet, and for those already on the path, to show them the depth of their commitment and the potential for real change that comes by not eating our fair animal comrades.

My own journey into vegetarianism began with a lot of doubt and a little help from my friends. I was once of those students receiving delicious Indian vegetarian fare from Hindu monks at the University of Michigan, but having come from a different culinary background, the food they offered simply bewildered me.  Over time, my monk friends won me over to their heartfelt offerings as they explained more of the culture behind it, and I also just came to realize the food was really, really good.

As I began to explore a commitment to vegetarianism, I had the good fortune of being surrounded by friends who were already engaged as vegetarians and vegans.  I was also in a progressive college community where there were plenty of restaurants and groceries which catered to the vegetarian lifestyle.  As I moved on into the lifestyle of a Hindu monk, I started to learn how to cook, which helped me to further appreciate the colorful, savoury, and rich depth of the vegetarian cuisine of India and of the rest of the world.

So it is with an immense sense of gratitude from my own end that I now am able to return the favor to all those who guided me towards the vegetarian ideal, by teaching its art and depth of knowledge to some of Manhattan's brightest.  At the foundation of our presentation is a unique understanding of the value of ahimsa, or non-violence, as presented in the Gita.  Going beyond the foundation of not causing any physical, mental, or psychological harm to any living creature, the deeper understanding of ahimsa lies in the understanding of the progressive, enlightened transmigration of the soul through the process of reincarnation.

The Vedas describe a progressive evolution of the soul through different microbial, plant, and animal forms to the human form of life, which is considered an ideal body for spiritual realization.  The soul naturally progresses, by instinct and divine guidance, through increasingly complex forms of life before coming to the human stage.  Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, in his translation of the Gita, explains what happens when that progression is stopped by acts of violence:

"Real ahiḿsā means not checking anyone's progressive life. The animals are also making progress in their evolutionary life by transmigrating from one category of animal life to another. If a particular animal is killed, then his progress is checked. If an animal is staying in a particular body for so many days or so many years and is untimely killed, then he has to come back again in that form of life to complete the remaining days in order to be promoted to another species of life. So their progress should not be checked simply to satisfy one's palate. This is called ahiḿsā."

By living a vegetarian lifestyle, we not only refrain from harming our animal friends physically, but also spiritually. Naturally the question arises about plant life, and the potential harm that might be caused to them for the needs of our own body.  Of course, we know that some fruits and vegetables fall right from the plant or tree, causing no harm in and of itself.  For the other forms of plant life who do give their life for our sustenance, the Hindu tradition tells us that we should prepare and cook these gifts as an offering to God in love and devotion.  If done in this mood, God blesses the offering, insuring that the fruits, grains, and vegetables used in the offering continue their spiritual progression.

With our cooking classes, our hope is that our friends there can understand that our offering of vegetarian food has benefits that go beyond the taste buds.  We know that the way to a person's heart is through their stomach, and hopefully we can also help them understand that the way to knowledge and respect of the soul also comes through the food that they eat.

Chris Fici is a writer/teacher/monk in the bhakti-yoga tradition. He has been practicing at the Bhaktivedanta Ashram at the Bhakti Center in New York City since 2009.  After receiving a degree in film studies at the University of Michigan, Chris began his exploration and study of the bhakti tradition. He currently teaches classes on the culture and art of vegetarian cooking, as well as the living philosophy of the Bhagavad-Gita, at New York University and Columbia University.

 The latest from my good friend and fellow monk Gadadhar Pandit Dasa at the Huffington Post

It's quite natural for those of faith to turn towards God during difficult times. Even if one has a regular spiritual practice, their practice can increase and improve during times of difficulty. After the events of September 11 for example, churches in New York City had some of their largest attendance in quite some time. Why is it that a lot of us have to come to a point of utter hopelessness and desperation before we call out to God? Why is it that even if one doesn't have faith, one may make a last ditch effort to call out to God as well?

When life is treating us good and all is going well, we often don't feel a need for God in our lives. Our material acquisitions -- money, property, friends and family -- become our crutch. As long as we have these things in place, we feel comfortable and don't have a strong need for a spiritual practice.

However, when these things start to fade, we feel a sense of fear and panic come over us.

As a society, we have become so dependent on material things for our happiness that our lives would become completely disrupted without them. When things are on shaky ground, we pray to God to protect what we have. We reach out to God and expect Him to keep things as they are or fix them and make everything all right. God becomes our plumber who's supposed to fix things when they go wrong. This need-based spirituality is all right, but it's a bit superficial.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna (God) lists four basic types of people that turn towards Him. Number one on the list is the "distressed." In case you're wondering, the other three are those that need money, the philosophically inquisitive, and the wise or those who don't want anything from God, except a loving relationship. In the Gita Krishna explains that He welcomes all four types that approach Him, but the one who approaches Him without material motivation is the most dear.

We can tend to use spirituality like medicine or a hospital. We utilize it only when things aren't going right or when we're suffering financially, emotionally or relationally. Our pain and suffering, however, can be a path to transcending this selfish conception of spirituality into something more. It can make us ask the questions we normally wouldn't ask, and can lead us to bigger and broader questions, such "what's really the purpose of life?" and "how can we avoid suffering?"

Unless one starts to ask these questions, one can never truly understand the purpose of life. Even if one does understand philosophically that there's a higher purpose to life, without some suffering, one may not feel the impetus to implement some spiritual practice into their life.

Suffering doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. It can help us grow and mature in ways we can't even imagine. It can give us realizations about life which otherwise would be difficult to acquire. I'm not suggesting we go out and look for suffering. Rest assured, it will find its way into our life.

There's a beautiful verse in the Gita, chapter 2 verse 14:

"...the nonpermanent appearance of happiness and distress, and their disappearance in due course, are like the appearance and disappearance of winter and summer seasons...and one must learn to tolerate them without being disturbed."

Difficulties teach us patience, tolerance, acceptance, and ultimately that we're not in complete control of our lives. We can do everything perfectly and things might still not go our way. Some of the greatest teachers within Hinduism demonstrated by their own example that our soul can experience the greatest spiritual growth during challenging times, and they also demonstrated that we can actually thank God for the difficulty.
While undergoing a difficulty one may not be able to fully understand how this is supposed to be beneficial. However, as Steve Jobs said in his commencement speech, you can only connect the dots looking back.


The Vedic texts explain that the soul is a part and parcel of the Supreme. It is qualitatively one but quantitatively different from God, like a spark of fire which has similar qualities to the larger fire, but is insignificant in size compared to the actual fire. Because the soul has this eternal connection to God, it has a natural tendency to reach out to God during difficult times. These opportunities provide the soul, which is stuck in a material body, to again reach out to God and rekindle that relationship.

The help will definitely come, but not always in the ways we expect it to. If the soul can remain faithful even if it appears that God isn't sending the help one is asking for, the soul's union with God is almost guaranteed even within this life.
Follow Gadadhara Pandit Dasa on Twitter: www.twitter.com/nycpandit

 The latest from my good friend and fellow monk Gadadhar Pandit Dasa at the Huffington Post

It's quite natural for those of faith to turn towards God during difficult times. Even if one has a regular spiritual practice, their practice can increase and improve during times of difficulty. After the events of September 11 for example, churches in New York City had some of their largest attendance in quite some time. Why is it that a lot of us have to come to a point of utter hopelessness and desperation before we call out to God? Why is it that even if one doesn't have faith, one may make a last ditch effort to call out to God as well?

When life is treating us good and all is going well, we often don't feel a need for God in our lives. Our material acquisitions -- money, property, friends and family -- become our crutch. As long as we have these things in place, we feel comfortable and don't have a strong need for a spiritual practice.

However, when these things start to fade, we feel a sense of fear and panic come over us.

As a society, we have become so dependent on material things for our happiness that our lives would become completely disrupted without them. When things are on shaky ground, we pray to God to protect what we have. We reach out to God and expect Him to keep things as they are or fix them and make everything all right. God becomes our plumber who's supposed to fix things when they go wrong. This need-based spirituality is all right, but it's a bit superficial.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna (God) lists four basic types of people that turn towards Him. Number one on the list is the "distressed." In case you're wondering, the other three are those that need money, the philosophically inquisitive, and the wise or those who don't want anything from God, except a loving relationship. In the Gita Krishna explains that He welcomes all four types that approach Him, but the one who approaches Him without material motivation is the most dear.

We can tend to use spirituality like medicine or a hospital. We utilize it only when things aren't going right or when we're suffering financially, emotionally or relationally. Our pain and suffering, however, can be a path to transcending this selfish conception of spirituality into something more. It can make us ask the questions we normally wouldn't ask, and can lead us to bigger and broader questions, such "what's really the purpose of life?" and "how can we avoid suffering?"

Unless one starts to ask these questions, one can never truly understand the purpose of life. Even if one does understand philosophically that there's a higher purpose to life, without some suffering, one may not feel the impetus to implement some spiritual practice into their life.

Suffering doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. It can help us grow and mature in ways we can't even imagine. It can give us realizations about life which otherwise would be difficult to acquire. I'm not suggesting we go out and look for suffering. Rest assured, it will find its way into our life.

There's a beautiful verse in the Gita, chapter 2 verse 14:

"...the nonpermanent appearance of happiness and distress, and their disappearance in due course, are like the appearance and disappearance of winter and summer seasons...and one must learn to tolerate them without being disturbed."

Difficulties teach us patience, tolerance, acceptance, and ultimately that we're not in complete control of our lives. We can do everything perfectly and things might still not go our way. Some of the greatest teachers within Hinduism demonstrated by their own example that our soul can experience the greatest spiritual growth during challenging times, and they also demonstrated that we can actually thank God for the difficulty.
While undergoing a difficulty one may not be able to fully understand how this is supposed to be beneficial. However, as Steve Jobs said in his commencement speech, you can only connect the dots looking back.


The Vedic texts explain that the soul is a part and parcel of the Supreme. It is qualitatively one but quantitatively different from God, like a spark of fire which has similar qualities to the larger fire, but is insignificant in size compared to the actual fire. Because the soul has this eternal connection to God, it has a natural tendency to reach out to God during difficult times. These opportunities provide the soul, which is stuck in a material body, to again reach out to God and rekindle that relationship.

The help will definitely come, but not always in the ways we expect it to. If the soul can remain faithful even if it appears that God isn't sending the help one is asking for, the soul's union with God is almost guaranteed even within this life.
Follow Gadadhara Pandit Dasa on Twitter: www.twitter.com/nycpandit

On this day, the warriors assembled
Where, generations before,
Virtuous Kuru sat in meditation.
The warriors made ready
For victory or the afterlife,
Yet they did not know
How thirsty the fields
Would be for their blood.

On this day, seeing
Friends, relatives and teachers
Opposed before him,
Arjuna felt the burden of his actions,
And his heart ached for them
As the mighty Gandiva
Slipped from his hands,
And tears flowed from his eyes.

On this day, Sri Krishna
Drove Arjuna’s chariot
And laid before him the secret teachings,
And revealed His fearful, cosmic form
And encouraged him to fight,
And yet, see friend and foe alike.
In one instance as He blessed Arjuna,
Krishna blessed us all.

“And I declare that he who studies this sacred conversation worships Me by his intelligence.” Bhagavad Gita 18:70

On this day, the warriors assembled
Where, generations before,
Virtuous Kuru sat in meditation.
The warriors made ready
For victory or the afterlife,
Yet they did not know
How thirsty the fields
Would be for their blood.

On this day, seeing
Friends, relatives and teachers
Opposed before him,
Arjuna felt the burden of his actions,
And his heart ached for them
As the mighty Gandiva
Slipped from his hands,
And tears flowed from his eyes.

On this day, Sri Krishna
Drove Arjuna’s chariot
And laid before him the secret teachings,
And revealed His fearful, cosmic form
And encouraged him to fight,
And yet, see friend and foe alike.
In one instance as He blessed Arjuna,
Krishna blessed us all.

“And I declare that he who studies this sacred conversation worships Me by his intelligence.” Bhagavad Gita 18:70

Some time back, an idea of Gaura-Shakti & Friends cooking for a Sunday Feast at Toronto's famous Hare Krishna Centre was thrown out onto the table!  Everyone loved the idea, arrangements were made and the date was booked for Sunday, November 13, 2011.

Some time back, an idea of Gaura-Shakti & Friends cooking for a Sunday Feast at Toronto's famous Hare Krishna Centre was thrown out onto the table!  Everyone loved the idea, arrangements were made and the date was booked for Sunday, November 13, 2011.

My friend Jennifer Mazzucco just sent me this beautiful video about Tashi Mannox, an English calligraphy artist. I loved hearing his eloquent thoughts on creating devotional art that doesn’t preach, but just tries to communicate philosophy and ideas that will uplift people. Tashi said that he feels the responsibility of an artist or musician is to uplift everyone they come in contact with.

Jennifer and I are creating a devotional art workshop together that we’ll be presenting for the first time at the Kripalu centre this winter. Our aim is to explore the process of creating devotional art – how getting creative opens us up to a deeper sense of connection with the soul and the Divine, and how this act of creation can teach us so much about the joy of focus and detachment.

In other news, I’m in DC right now spending time in the recording studio with Gaura Vani. We’re working on new music that encompasses both kirtan and Sanskrit mantras, as well as original English lyrics. It’s a fun process, but very new to me also. Music can be so spontaneous and free flowing, and this suits the organic, immediate nature of prayer so well. In crafting something and attempting to capture it, it can be hard to retain the original feeling. Throughout, we must constantly remember that imperfection is inevitable – the creative spark that flares into a small, bright flame is only a tiny speck of divine beauty, and we are fortunate if we can hold it for even a moment.

Lately we’ve been hearing a lot about all the problems with our world with the occupy this, that or the other. Yet not many folks are proposing solutions. This is the fallacy I’m finding with most of the new movements out there. So in response to that I’ve comprised a short list of actions to […]

The cave glow worm hangs silken fishing lines made of its own mucus from the roof of its cave to catch its prey. It then literally hangs from a mucus hammock and waits. There is a chemical reaction in a capsule at the end of its body that emits a blue glow. So, literally, the light shines out of its ass. When you stand at the bottom of a cave and look up at the mass of lights a colony of these glow worms make, there is little to distinguish one from the other. Each is insignificant in relation to the whole mass, let alone to the sun outside of the cave. But when you zoom into one of these unfortunate creatures, you will find an individual who thinks that the light shines out of its ass. Thus, the whole colony is made up of an en-mass unfortunate notion that the light shines out of my ass.

Somehow or other, insects are uncontrollably attracted to that glow worm ass-light and are snared before being eaten alive. The glow worm thus gains its audience and subsequently devours it. And so it subsists on the misfortunes of others who have uncontrollable senses that drag them to its ass-light. But in the end, it is unable to do anything that is of benefit for anyone while it maintains the notion that there is a light that shines out of its ass.

The analogies that can be drawn from this are eerily pertinent. For example:
“These so-called glow-worms, they'll not be able to do anything. That's a fact. Don't remain a glow-worm. Just become a sun and moon.” [SP: SB 1.15.1 Lecture NY 29/11/73]

The cave glow worm hangs silken fishing lines made of its own mucus from the roof of its cave to catch its prey. It then literally hangs from a mucus hammock and waits. There is a chemical reaction in a capsule at the end of its body that emits a blue glow. So, literally, the light shines out of its ass. When you stand at the bottom of a cave and look up at the mass of lights a colony of these glow worms make, there is little to distinguish one from the other. Each is insignificant in relation to the whole mass, let alone to the sun outside of the cave. But when you zoom into one of these unfortunate creatures, you will find an individual who thinks that the light shines out of its ass. Thus, the whole colony is made up of an en-mass unfortunate notion that the light shines out of my ass.

Somehow or other, insects are uncontrollably attracted to that glow worm ass-light and are snared before being eaten alive. The glow worm thus gains its audience and subsequently devours it. And so it subsists on the misfortunes of others who have uncontrollable senses that drag them to its ass-light. But in the end, it is unable to do anything that is of benefit for anyone while it maintains the notion that there is a light that shines out of its ass.

The analogies that can be drawn from this are eerily pertinent. For example:
“These so-called glow-worms, they'll not be able to do anything. That's a fact. Don't remain a glow-worm. Just become a sun and moon.” [SP: SB 1.15.1 Lecture NY 29/11/73]

We spend so much time in the external, material energy of God (Sri Krishna) that the internal world becomes something of an imaginary prospect. The concrete world that I perceive with my material senses is infinitely more real to me than Vaikuntha or Goloka Vrindavan. It's ironic that this temporary, ephemeral material world seems more real to me than that internal world which is eternal and unchanging.

How we spend our time affects how we perceive reality. If we spend all of our time absorbed in the external, material energy then we will identify with it and become caught up in all of its changes, transformations and complexities. We will become completely convinced that we are these material, physical bodies and subtle minds. We will become convinced that we are the temporary personality that we currently happen to be. In other words, we will be in total, complete ignorance about our real identity as spiritual energy, spiritual beings.

Conversely, if we spend our time absorbed in the internal energy (through associating with and serving advanced, realized souls, hearing from them and the sastras (Vedic scriptures), chanting the Holy Name, etc.) then we will come closer to that side of reality and begin to experience those higher truths.

I've experienced both sides of this coin. I've lived in the temple/ashram as a celibate monk, fully absorbed in Krishna Conscious/devotional/spiritual activities and I've also moved out of the ashram and gone full force back into the external, material energy and the world of sense gratification. Each world has its own peculiar set of good and bad, happiness and struggles.

I was never truly happy when I moved out of the ashram. There was always a sense of discontent and of wasting my time in activities that had no meaning or purpose. At the same time, living in the ashram was becoming boring and mechanical. My Guru Maharaja once told me that I was something like a ghost, caught inbetween two worlds, not fully committing to either side. This is my plight even up to the present day.

Is this not the nature of human consciousness? Sometimes moving towards the non-material, spiritual side of things and at other times gravitating towards sense gratification? The spiritualist is engaged in a constant struggle against their lower nature and desires. Being absorbed in the material we cultivate a material consciousness full of self-centered ideas and goals. Being absorbed in the spiritual we cultivate selflessness, service and devotional ecstasy. The latter moves us closer to realizing our true, eternal identity in relationship with the Divine Source of all existence.

If I step back from my existence and look at it from an objective view point I can see just how much time I waste. The mind enjoys habit and being pleasure seeking we fall into patterns and routines that afford us the most amount of "instant gratification". I find myself wandering on the internet, going on eBay or Facebook or some comic book website and searching for some kind of enjoyment. But all of these things are simply reinforcing my illusion that I am my body and that I'll be here forever. Why don't I instead use my time to cultivate the internal, spiritual, eternal side of my existence?

I find no motivation, no enthusiasm to pursue that side of things. I know it's important, I know I'm going to die and yet the urgency is lacking. I am completely covered by illusion, completely covered over by this material energy.

That spiritual, internal, eternal side of existence will forever remain hidden from me if I continue on identifying with the material and pursuing sense gratification. But the attachment and material identification are so strong and difficult to break. There's no way we can do it alone or by our own power. This is the wonder of the mercy of Sri Guru/Sri Nityananda Prabu. Through their causeless mercy we are brought up into that higher quarter, even though we are so unqualified and contaminated.

I pray to Sri Nityananda Prabhu to never give up on me and to forcibly push me towards the internal world. In Kali-yuga we have no other recourse and no other hope.

We spend so much time in the external, material energy of God (Sri Krishna) that the internal world becomes something of an imaginary prospect. The concrete world that I perceive with my material senses is infinitely more real to me than Vaikuntha or Goloka Vrindavan. It's ironic that this temporary, ephemeral material world seems more real to me than that internal world which is eternal and unchanging.

How we spend our time affects how we perceive reality. If we spend all of our time absorbed in the external, material energy then we will identify with it and become caught up in all of its changes, transformations and complexities. We will become completely convinced that we are these material, physical bodies and subtle minds. We will become convinced that we are the temporary personality that we currently happen to be. In other words, we will be in total, complete ignorance about our real identity as spiritual energy, spiritual beings.

Conversely, if we spend our time absorbed in the internal energy (through associating with and serving advanced, realized souls, hearing from them and the sastras (Vedic scriptures), chanting the Holy Name, etc.) then we will come closer to that side of reality and begin to experience those higher truths.

I've experienced both sides of this coin. I've lived in the temple/ashram as a celibate monk, fully absorbed in Krishna Conscious/devotional/spiritual activities and I've also moved out of the ashram and gone full force back into the external, material energy and the world of sense gratification. Each world has its own peculiar set of good and bad, happiness and struggles.

I was never truly happy when I moved out of the ashram. There was always a sense of discontent and of wasting my time in activities that had no meaning or purpose. At the same time, living in the ashram was becoming boring and mechanical. My Guru Maharaja once told me that I was something like a ghost, caught inbetween two worlds, not fully committing to either side. This is my plight even up to the present day.

Is this not the nature of human consciousness? Sometimes moving towards the non-material, spiritual side of things and at other times gravitating towards sense gratification? The spiritualist is engaged in a constant struggle against their lower nature and desires. Being absorbed in the material we cultivate a material consciousness full of self-centered ideas and goals. Being absorbed in the spiritual we cultivate selflessness, service and devotional ecstasy. The latter moves us closer to realizing our true, eternal identity in relationship with the Divine Source of all existence.

If I step back from my existence and look at it from an objective view point I can see just how much time I waste. The mind enjoys habit and being pleasure seeking we fall into patterns and routines that afford us the most amount of "instant gratification". I find myself wandering on the internet, going on eBay or Facebook or some comic book website and searching for some kind of enjoyment. But all of these things are simply reinforcing my illusion that I am my body and that I'll be here forever. Why don't I instead use my time to cultivate the internal, spiritual, eternal side of my existence?

I find no motivation, no enthusiasm to pursue that side of things. I know it's important, I know I'm going to die and yet the urgency is lacking. I am completely covered by illusion, completely covered over by this material energy.

That spiritual, internal, eternal side of existence will forever remain hidden from me if I continue on identifying with the material and pursuing sense gratification. But the attachment and material identification are so strong and difficult to break. There's no way we can do it alone or by our own power. This is the wonder of the mercy of Sri Guru/Sri Nityananda Prabu. Through their causeless mercy we are brought up into that higher quarter, even though we are so unqualified and contaminated.

I pray to Sri Nityananda Prabhu to never give up on me and to forcibly push me towards the internal world. In Kali-yuga we have no other recourse and no other hope.

In the style of Mertonian homage, a simple meditation on thoughts, ideas, and realizations from our discussion of "Thoughts in Solitude" by Thomas Merton at our recent meeting of the Bhakti Center Book Club

We find a great, if unhealthy, solace in simply remaining in the role of the observer, yet the practical demands of this world, and the practical orders of the great teachers who carry us forward, demand that we transcend the restraints of the observer.  They demand we come down from the clouds of our head-space into the ground of our heart-space.

In this ground of our heart, we come to understand the deeper truth of solitude, found in the acceptance, understanding, and communion with everyone else's solitude.  We cannot accept how alone we are, how much pain we feel, how much joy we are capable of, and the presence of the Divine in our own heart until we can gradually see all these things in the heart of everyone else.  The feeling of liberation we receive upon this revelation transcends all the fear and hesitation that ruins our ability to fully communicate with each other.

Having this revelation, we fully understand the meaning of solitude and silence in our own being, because the reality of who we are becomes incredibly clear, reflected with such illumination from the hearts of everyone else.

The pillars of greed, lust, envy, and all the other fantasies of the selfish heart has made our civilization barren practically to its core.  Yet this is all a projection and reflection of the more imposing desert we face within our own heart, which is the source of all the anxiety we face in our individual and collective lives. This imposition from within has created the tangle of contradictions which we rage against, or which we die quietly but so painfully from.

The first instinct upon facing our contradictions is to run away as fast as we can, to dive into the spirits of our comforts.  The experience of our actual consciousness is so painful, so nauseating, so disorienting, that most of us (myself especially) are still stuck in the energy of that initial instinct to flee, unable to go any further on the walk through the desert of the heart.

We are stuck once again on the observation deck, attempting to re-strategize for the next assault, but we are missing one great tool, one great weapon, which is found in the silence of our own heart.  It is the space of our faith, where we understand that God is always carrying us and always protecting us, especially in the greatest tribulations and purification.  In this space, feeling the warm embrace of our Beloved holding us close, we gain the proper perspective.

The great sage of solitude, Thomas Merton, explains this perspective:

In the style of Mertonian homage, a simple meditation on thoughts, ideas, and realizations from our discussion of "Thoughts in Solitude" by Thomas Merton at our recent meeting of the Bhakti Center Book Club

We find a great, if unhealthy, solace in simply remaining in the role of the observer, yet the practical demands of this world, and the practical orders of the great teachers who carry us forward, demand that we transcend the restraints of the observer.  They demand we come down from the clouds of our head-space into the ground of our heart-space.

In this ground of our heart, we come to understand the deeper truth of solitude, found in the acceptance, understanding, and communion with everyone else's solitude.  We cannot accept how alone we are, how much pain we feel, how much joy we are capable of, and the presence of the Divine in our own heart until we can gradually see all these things in the heart of everyone else.  The feeling of liberation we receive upon this revelation transcends all the fear and hesitation that ruins our ability to fully communicate with each other.

Having this revelation, we fully understand the meaning of solitude and silence in our own being, because the reality of who we are becomes incredibly clear, reflected with such illumination from the hearts of everyone else.

The pillars of greed, lust, envy, and all the other fantasies of the selfish heart has made our civilization barren practically to its core.  Yet this is all a projection and reflection of the more imposing desert we face within our own heart, which is the source of all the anxiety we face in our individual and collective lives. This imposition from within has created the tangle of contradictions which we rage against, or which we die quietly but so painfully from.

The first instinct upon facing our contradictions is to run away as fast as we can, to dive into the spirits of our comforts.  The experience of our actual consciousness is so painful, so nauseating, so disorienting, that most of us (myself especially) are still stuck in the energy of that initial instinct to flee, unable to go any further on the walk through the desert of the heart.

We are stuck once again on the observation deck, attempting to re-strategize for the next assault, but we are missing one great tool, one great weapon, which is found in the silence of our own heart.  It is the space of our faith, where we understand that God is always carrying us and always protecting us, especially in the greatest tribulations and purification.  In this space, feeling the warm embrace of our Beloved holding us close, we gain the proper perspective.

The great sage of solitude, Thomas Merton, explains this perspective:

I’ve often been told that I’m extremely enthusiastic. Truth be told, at times I’ve wondered if that was a compliment or a backhanded way of saying something else!

In our Vaisnava tradition enthusiasm is one of the cornerstones that our bhakti journey should rest upon. I’ve always found it quizzical when the inevitable question comes up “How does one become enthusiastic?” There are several responses I’ve heard over the years but the one that always stands out is “Associate with those who are enthusiastic.”

Being enthusiastic, however, is not so difficult. One naturally becomes enthusiastic about something that motivates them, inspires them or enlivens them. I would argue that maintaining enthusiasm in our day to day sadhana and services is what is more challenging. It’s easy to feel enthusiastic for a second, an hour, a day or perhaps even a week. But we, in the line of the great Vaisnava acaryas, aspire for more. We aspire for lifetime upon lifetime of consistent and ever increasing enthusiasm to not only serve Krsna but to serve the Vaisnavas.

In a lecture I was recently listening to, the dual workings of patience and enthusiasm was highlighted and as the proverbial saying goes a light bulb finally went on in my head. I’ve often found it almost contradictory that both of these qualities are extremely important in the cultivation of bhakti. In my experience, being enthusiastic often results in me wanting something right now, whereas patience requires just that- patience which is something that I firmly believe Krsna has on his priority list for me to acquire right along with humility!

However, as was explained in the lecture, having one without the other can lead to a recipe for disaster. If one is simply patient and waits and waits and waits without investing any action, nothing will come of it. Conversely, if one is extremely enthusiastic and is not patient then if the results of one’s endeavor do not come immediately, one may become disheartened and give up altogether.

It is often proclaimed “Work as though everything depends upon you and pray knowing everything is dependent upon God (Krsna).” In that one sentence one can find patience and enthusiasm as the underlying seeds which need to be planted in order for the flower of Krsna bhakti to blossom. In fact, it will lead us to the coveted goal we should all aspire towards- steadiness in service, in sadhana and in our consciousness of Krsna at all times.

So the next time you feel yourself getting extremely enthusiastic or feel as though Krsna may be testing you by making you wait for something, remember that it’s not just patience or just enthusiasm that are required to advance. It’s both.

I’ve often been told that I’m extremely enthusiastic. Truth be told, at times I’ve wondered if that was a compliment or a backhanded way of saying something else!

In our Vaisnava tradition enthusiasm is one of the cornerstones that our bhakti journey should rest upon. I’ve always found it quizzical when the inevitable question comes up “How does one become enthusiastic?” There are several responses I’ve heard over the years but the one that always stands out is “Associate with those who are enthusiastic.”

Being enthusiastic, however, is not so difficult. One naturally becomes enthusiastic about something that motivates them, inspires them or enlivens them. I would argue that maintaining enthusiasm in our day to day sadhana and services is what is more challenging. It’s easy to feel enthusiastic for a second, an hour, a day or perhaps even a week. But we, in the line of the great Vaisnava acaryas, aspire for more. We aspire for lifetime upon lifetime of consistent and ever increasing enthusiasm to not only serve Krsna but to serve the Vaisnavas.

In a lecture I was recently listening to, the dual workings of patience and enthusiasm was highlighted and as the proverbial saying goes a light bulb finally went on in my head. I’ve often found it almost contradictory that both of these qualities are extremely important in the cultivation of bhakti. In my experience, being enthusiastic often results in me wanting something right now, whereas patience requires just that- patience which is something that I firmly believe Krsna has on his priority list for me to acquire right along with humility!

However, as was explained in the lecture, having one without the other can lead to a recipe for disaster. If one is simply patient and waits and waits and waits without investing any action, nothing will come of it. Conversely, if one is extremely enthusiastic and is not patient then if the results of one’s endeavor do not come immediately, one may become disheartened and give up altogether.

It is often proclaimed “Work as though everything depends upon you and pray knowing everything is dependent upon God (Krsna).” In that one sentence one can find patience and enthusiasm as the underlying seeds which need to be planted in order for the flower of Krsna bhakti to blossom. In fact, it will lead us to the coveted goal we should all aspire towards- steadiness in service, in sadhana and in our consciousness of Krsna at all times.

So the next time you feel yourself getting extremely enthusiastic or feel as though Krsna may be testing you by making you wait for something, remember that it’s not just patience or just enthusiasm that are required to advance. It’s both.

O Prabhupada
You are a treasure
Who has brought the Treasure
You are eternally wakeful,
Calling the sleepers to awaken
You are the Vaikuntha traveler
Transversing the world
First in your vapu and then your vani
You are the most precious cargo of the Jaladhuta
You are the divine dancer of GaurHari
You are the smasher of impersonalism
The pounder of the false ego
You are the proclaim-er
Of the yuga dharma
You are the stirrer of souls
The speaker of countless words of wisdom
The savior of wayward lives,
The fixer of calamities
The mender of broken hearts
The vendor of the Holy Name
You are the lighthouse
In the dark waters of the kaliyuga
You are the bringer of Govinda’s love
You do not see who is fit or unfit
You are the beggar
Bestowing the greatest gift
To all who will take it.

O Prabhupada
You are a treasure
Who has brought the Treasure
You are eternally wakeful,
Calling the sleepers to awaken
You are the Vaikuntha traveler
Transversing the world
First in your vapu and then your vani
You are the most precious cargo of the Jaladhuta
You are the divine dancer of GaurHari
You are the smasher of impersonalism
The pounder of the false ego
You are the proclaim-er
Of the yuga dharma
You are the stirrer of souls
The speaker of countless words of wisdom
The savior of wayward lives,
The fixer of calamities
The mender of broken hearts
The vendor of the Holy Name
You are the lighthouse
In the dark waters of the kaliyuga
You are the bringer of Govinda’s love
You do not see who is fit or unfit
You are the beggar
Bestowing the greatest gift
To all who will take it.

In the fifth century, Champasak was thought to be the centre of the Laotian universe. Today it’s a drowsy one-car village clutching the western bank of the Mekong River in southern Laos and home to the tiny Hindu-built Vat Phou, which some archaeologists believe may have been the first Angkor temple ever built.

At a glance, Vat Phou doesn’t seem like the kind of structure that would initiate an empire. A tiny prayer hall at the top of a precarious stone stairway, with two reception halls on the plains below, Vat Phou lacks the jaw-dropping awesomeness of temples in Cambodia’s Angkor Archaeological Park. But as with the Angkor temples, its symbolism is extraordinary.

Tucked under the phallic-shaped mountain peak of Phu Kao – thought to represent Mount Meru, the sacred mountain at the centre of the Hindu cosmology – Vat Phou was worshipped as the embodiment of Shiva. The spring nearby was associated with Shiva’s wife, the goddess Parvati. Water runs underground from Phu Kao’s peak, rising through Parvati. From here, passing a series of barays (man-made dams) and linga (phallic statues), water flows into the Mekong, blessing everything on its journey south.

UNDER THREAT: The ruins of Vat Phou in southern Laos hold secrets that are being destroyed by development.

In the fifth century, Champasak was thought to be the centre of the Laotian universe. Today it’s a drowsy one-car village clutching the western bank of the Mekong River in southern Laos and home to the tiny Hindu-built Vat Phou, which some archaeologists believe may have been the first Angkor temple ever built.

At a glance, Vat Phou doesn’t seem like the kind of structure that would initiate an empire. A tiny prayer hall at the top of a precarious stone stairway, with two reception halls on the plains below, Vat Phou lacks the jaw-dropping awesomeness of temples in Cambodia’s Angkor Archaeological Park. But as with the Angkor temples, its symbolism is extraordinary.

Tucked under the phallic-shaped mountain peak of Phu Kao – thought to represent Mount Meru, the sacred mountain at the centre of the Hindu cosmology – Vat Phou was worshipped as the embodiment of Shiva. The spring nearby was associated with Shiva’s wife, the goddess Parvati. Water runs underground from Phu Kao’s peak, rising through Parvati. From here, passing a series of barays (man-made dams) and linga (phallic statues), water flows into the Mekong, blessing everything on its journey south.

I learn this while poring over a satellite map with Daniel Davenport, an articulate but debated Australian archaeologist working in Champasak and author of the Vat Phou Guide: Following in the Footsteps of Angkor’s Pilgrims, a tourist compendium on the area that Davenport is self publishing.

“Vat Phou could quite well have been the first, the pre-eminent, Angkor temple,” he says, explaining that early worshippers took a piece of Vat Phou stone and placed it under every subsequent temple they built.

On the map, Davenport points out a well-defined line leading from one of the reception halls at Vat Phou to the temple of Angkor Wat. “This used to be a pilgrims’ road during the Khmer Empire,” he says, referring to the kingdom that reigned over much of south-east Asia between the ninth and thirteenth centuries and used the Angkor Archaelogical Park as the capital. “They had roadhouses every six miles (nine kilometres) with accommodation, food, shelter for the animals and hospitals; six miles being the average distance a bullock cart could travel in a day.”

However, archaeologists at Vat Phou know a lot less than they would like to. “We have excavated about 5 per cent of the area,” says Laurent Delfour, a French architect who has been working with UNESCO to manage the site for the past three-and-a-half years. “That translates as 5 per cent knowledge on the area. We believe that Vat Phou marked the beginning of the Angkor Empire but nothing is certain.”

What is certain is the race against time Champasak’s hidden treasures face. A new highway linking the town with the regional capital of Pakse and the Thai border post of Chong Mek, has already disturbed six ancient temples beneath the ground. Champasak was designated a World Heritage zone in 2001; building without assessments, and approval, is not permitted.

“The Laos Ministry of Information and Culture did a little research into the area where the road was going,” says a long-term Champasak resident who requested anonymity. “But the findings were just pushed aside and work on the road accelerated.”

The local government is hoping the road, which will extend to the Cambodian border, will bring in busloads of tourists.  Full story here.

 http://bharatkalyan97.blogspot.com/2011/10/vat-phou-temples-ancient-history.html

I am writing without really knowing why. Sometimes writing is motivated by a new understanding, a ‘realisation’. But what realisation do I have? You can realise something, as in understand it, but surely to truly realise something means to ‘bring it into reality’, to live it. So to truly have a realisation means to understand something and then apply it every day.

So what have I realised lately? In small ways, like gathering scraps and snippets and threads, I have begun to understand that the things I thought were important – security, companionship, money – are not as important as they seem. Sometimes it seems like we are all living a great misunderstanding. We need so little, and the smallest things are the greatest treasures. To sing, to love, to dance. To smile as we fall asleep and as we wake. We can choose to do these things, or choose not to.

I have begun to glimpse that life is like a symphony of beauty and pain in equal measures. The music plays on, and each of us must decide how to play. We can choose to play with grace and humility. We can choose to play in such a way as to always push ourselves beyond our perceived limits. We can choose that if we trip up on a few notes, we smile and play on, no problem. We can choose to look up from the safety of our sheet music at the conductor, and feel safety and guidance in the movement of his hands. We can choose to play alone, and sometimes that is how the music is supposed to go. But at other times we are surrounded by a full orchestra, and we can feel the joy of harmony, the thrill of delicious syncopation.

Or if we are feeling insecure, we can watch the hands and faces of our fellow musicians and feel strength in togetherness. We can sing a painful song together. Or we can even fall silent. In times when our voices will not sing and our hands will not play, we can just listen to the music that washes within and without, steady like a timeless tide.

 

 

More can be read about it at: http://2ndlook.wordpress.com/2011/06/04/lowenmensch-puzzle-am-i-missing-something/

I went to a talk today at the Lincoln Center called Soul Music – a discussion on the nature of the soul, and how it relates to the experience of music. What makes music soulful, and what transforms an ‘ordinary’ musical experience into something transcendent?

The panelists were mostly unknown to me – a well known archaeologist -Alison Brooks, and a philosopher – David Chalmers. The one I did know was Philip Glass, whose career as a composer has been quite prolific and varied.

The talk began with a performance of shape note singing by a group called Sacred Harp. I had never heard of it before, and was surprised twice – when my first reaction to the sound was not so positive – there was an earthiness, a very human imperfection in their harmonies and exuberance which felt somehow jarring for a moment. Then all of a sudden the sound hit my heart and tears sprang to my eyes. It was quite powerfully beautiful. The songs they sang were composed in the 17th and 18th centuries by American Christian settlers and were designed to be sung by everyone in a congregation, whether musically literate or not – hence the term ‘shape note’ – the notation was written in shapes like squares and triangles instead of in the more traditional way,to make it all the more easy for anyone to read the music by sight. Listening, I suddenly got goosebumps all over – there was such joy and devotion in their song, and their harmonies were unusual and almost otherwordly. Here’s an example.

There is just something so deeply moving about unaccompanied voices. In that moment the body is used an instrument, literally and figuratively, and when done in community, I think it has the power to change the world, from the inside, out. I could see this yesterday during the monthly 6 hour kirtan at the Bhakti Center. Such a diversity of people came – it was incredible. At one point I was dancing and noticed a young woman who had just come in mouth incredulously to her friend, ‘Everyone looks so happy!’ She nodded, amazed. It’s true, we were. Though we all have a myriad of trialling circumstances to return to when it’s all over, kirtan, sacred call and response singing, connects us deeply with one another and with a timeless divinity that brings a feeling of profound happiness. The leader of the Sacred Harp group today said something beautiful about the spirituality of their music, that the singing is ‘communal property – people are drawn to it because the sound of these voices together is not ours, just as our soul is not ours.’

So it was quite interesting to hear the panelists grappling with the deeper philosophy behind why we feel this way. Of course for me, coming from a spiritual tradition that can totally explain the nature of the soul and the context that it sits within, it is always fascinating to hear others working over the discussion. Each of them stated that they had little insight into it, but attempted to examine it from different angles. Philip Glass talked about his experience of composing, being totally mysterious. He said that he can never actually remember composing anything, and feels the sense of ‘a witness’ who watches and remembers what he does, who takes over in those moments, leaving him unable to explain why he created in the way he did. It sounds to me like ‘Paramatma’ the divine within who witnesses our every moment, but of course it can be justified in many ways.

So much to write about on this topic – so much to explore! For now, here’s a logo I’ve been designing for the newly founded Call and Response Foundation – set up to bring kirtan and creative communal experiences into schools, prisons, hospitals and more. It’s a work in progress.

 

I went to a talk today at the Lincoln Center called Soul Music – a discussion on the nature of the soul, and how it relates to the experience of music. What makes music soulful, and what transforms an ‘ordinary’ musical experience into something transcendent?

The panelists were mostly unknown to me – a well known archaeologist -Alison Brooks, and a philosopher – David Chalmers. The one I did know was Philip Glass, whose career as a composer has been quite prolific and varied.

The talk began with a performance of shape note singing by a group called Sacred Harp. I had never heard of it before, and was surprised twice – when my first reaction to the sound was not so positive – there was an earthiness, a very human imperfection in their harmonies and exuberance which felt somehow jarring for a moment. Then all of a sudden the sound hit my heart and tears sprang to my eyes. It was quite powerfully beautiful. The songs they sang were composed in the 17th and 18th centuries by American Christian settlers and were designed to be sung by everyone in a congregation, whether musically literate or not – hence the term ‘shape note’ – the notation was written in shapes like squares and triangles instead of in the more traditional way,to make it all the more easy for anyone to read the music by sight. Listening, I suddenly got goosebumps all over – there was such joy and devotion in their song, and their harmonies were unusual and almost otherwordly. Here’s an example.

There is just something so deeply moving about unaccompanied voices. In that moment the body is used an instrument, literally and figuratively, and when done in community, I think it has the power to change the world, from the inside, out. I could see this yesterday during the monthly 6 hour kirtan at the Bhakti Center. Such a diversity of people came – it was incredible. At one point I was dancing and noticed a young woman who had just come in mouth incredulously to her friend, ‘Everyone looks so happy!’ She nodded, amazed. It’s true, we were. Though we all have a myriad of trialling circumstances to return to when it’s all over, kirtan, sacred call and response singing, connects us deeply with one another and with a timeless divinity that brings a feeling of profound happiness. The leader of the Sacred Harp group today said something beautiful about the spirituality of their music, that the singing is ‘communal property – people are drawn to it because the sound of these voices together is not ours, just as our soul is not ours.’

So it was quite interesting to hear the panelists grappling with the deeper philosophy behind why we feel this way. Of course for me, coming from a spiritual tradition that can totally explain the nature of the soul and the context that it sits within, it is always fascinating to hear others working over the discussion. Each of them stated that they had little insight into it, but attempted to examine it from different angles. Philip Glass talked about his experience of composing, being totally mysterious. He said that he can never actually remember composing anything, and feels the sense of ‘a witness’ who watches and remembers what he does, who takes over in those moments, leaving him unable to explain why he created in the way he did. It sounds to me like ‘Paramatma’ the divine within who witnesses our every moment, but of course it can be justified in many ways.

So much to write about on this topic – so much to explore! For now, here’s a logo I’ve been designing for the newly founded Call and Response Foundation – set up to bring kirtan and creative communal experiences into schools, prisons, hospitals and more. It’s a work in progress.

 

Your broad face
ribbed with waves
silently watching
absorbing
we forget to bow to you
O devi of the city
jogging past your body
admiring your beauty
feeding you our daily remains.
We forget to pray.
No flowers sit atop the zig zags
carved by tourist boats at dusk.
You reach your fingers beneath the gum covered concrete
touching iron and earth and forgotten prayers
buried deep
below
the
rumbling
office
blocks

O devi, forgive us as we tut and call you dirty.
Your wide banks reflect the span of your compassion.

Tonight at sunset,
you sing a quiet song
as the trees around you sleep
you sing of your far away sisters
of sandy banks
where blessed feet stand
offering evening prayers.

Your broad face
ribbed with waves
silently watching
absorbing
we forget to bow to you
O devi of the city
jogging past your body
admiring your beauty
feeding you our daily remains.
We forget to pray.
No flowers sit atop the zig zags
carved by tourist boats at dusk.
You reach your fingers beneath the gum covered concrete
touching iron and earth and forgotten prayers
buried deep
below
the
rumbling
office
blocks

O devi, forgive us as we tut and call you dirty.
Your wide banks reflect the span of your compassion.

Tonight at sunset,
you sing a quiet song
as the trees around you sleep
you sing of your far away sisters
of sandy banks
where blessed feet stand
offering evening prayers.