How often do we stop
to think of what we depend
to survive and thrive
and what's the Source of all?
Darkness has fallen
"suiting up" to go out:
mailbox and firewood.
Every step a prayer
giving thanks I still walk,
every breathe a question
when my love will awaken?
*Maharaja told a story of seeing a beggar's intense facial expression and gestures of need and desperation in the middle of a walkway at a busy train station in India. This inspired him in his chanting to call out for Krishna with feeling, expressing his urgent need for Krishna's mercy.
*There is a difference in hunger between a rich and poor man. A rich man's hunger is mild, as his stomach is at least semi-full, whereas a poor beggar is always hankering for a meal and visualizing food. Are we hungry for Krishna, or only religiously chanting?
Ratha Yatra Day 3 - Saturday August 2nd, 2008
LA Ratha Yatra Trip Day 1 -Thursday July 31st, 2008
(this blog is recorded on the full page: quick time player is needed; works best with Firefox or Explorer; if you are using Google Chrome it will automatically play, so to not listen, mute your speakers.)
Walls, fortifications, tall towers in the clouds
everything stone, metal, the strongest materials
supposedly for protection, though it also
serves as a prison to keep others from
finding and hurting the self, and keeping you and me
from our true pure soul, instead, confusing, confounding.
Relationships are meant as excavations of revelation
to bring out the real persons, behind the wall,
the more subtle veil, the fog and smoke of
self-deception, the soul plugged into the material
machine, the virtual reality, Matrix-like, forcing us
to believe our dramas, not liking our story, or anothers.
Can I express my truth and experience
so you will understand me really (do you want to?)
without your natural filter, lens or labels?
Many ways to look at our embodiment:
layers upon layers of gross and subtle coverings,
innumerable parts, different competing potent voices,
yet the soul is the origin or seat of consciousness
a spark of Divinity, lost, though searching blindly
for itself, for love, connection, fulfillment, happiness
that will endure in a fleeting, dark, restrictive world.
Ignorance that covers everyone’s eyes and good sense
is the all-pervading, much advertised false promise
that our heart’s desires will come in time, w/ friends and things
completely realizing its highest ideals and dreams
but alas—like the never reached carrot, luring the donkey on
or getting only appetizers, while hungry for the full meal—
the shadow, imitation world, gives only future, well-dressed promises.
As I flew to L.A. from Hawaii, I brought a very fragrant flower garland. When I arrived at the Temple, I wanted to personally garland him, but a devotee guard downstairs from his room stopped me. I thought about going into his room anyway, though I was too hesitant and fearful. Eventually Prabhupada came down to give his lecture---it was the disappearance day of his guru, Shrila Bhaktisiddhanta Sarasvati Thakur. I was introduced by the local GBC and gave him the garland. He didn’t seem to really notice me, which upset me a bit. I was able to consider that he likely was absorbed in other thoughts, perhaps of his guru. This was the year he gave a famous talk about his guru where he became choked up with tears saying how we were all helping him serve Shrila Bhaktisiddhanta.
At the airport reception, a huge kirtana was going on with devotees from Berkeley, San Francisco and L.A. We were oblivious to our surroundings and took over the waiting lounge. Perhaps there were over 100 devotees. As we waited the kirtana got more and more wild and ecstatic, which was not what the other arriving passengers were expecting as they filed out of the plane. We were at the top of a ramp with devotees on either side of the pathway. After what seemed a very long time Prabhupada appeared at the bottom of the walkway. Then the kirtana went into warp speed and intensity difficult to describe.
From Sacinandana Swami' newsletter:
Today, I chanted, prayed, sang, and deeply connected at Govinda Kunda. What an atmosphere!
Before me the kund, or pond, and towering behind-tall and majestic-Giriraja Govardhana. A cool breeze moves the leaves of the trees of desire whose arms dance in the wind as if offering arotika to Radha Govinda. This breeze cools my body and mind as well as those of my roommate-a small bat who listens intensely to my japa and singing.