"Motion is the Sign of Life"

By Dawn Raffel

Years ago, when I was a young woman, my father lived in a small fishing town north of Milwaukee. Downtown consisted of little more than a grocery store, dime store, and Dairy Queen, and since I hadn't grown up there, I didn't know anyone. To pass the time, I used to take hours-long solitary walks to the lakefront and out along a treacherous, slippery path of half-sunken rocks to a defunct lighthouse. Looking back toward shore, a church atop a hill commanded the otherwise empty skyline. Birds called and circled, and at night, the stars were astounding.

Recently, my kids and I went back to have a look at this little town. My dad passed away 25 years ago and the people who bought his house tore it down to build a giant garage. The previously serene lakefront is crowded with new multi-million dollar condos, and the jagged path to the lighthouse has been safely paved. You can have a drink at the lighthouse microbrewery or shop at the lighthouse gift shop, etc. Up the hill, that majestic church shares the skyline with new construction, and I imagine the stars have been obscured by electric lights.

Reminiscences of Swami Sridharananda Ji

By A Volunteer

Listening to Swami Sarvapriyanandaji’s reminiscence of Swami Sridharanandaji (Swamiji) evoked some memories from my brief yet memorable time in his presence during his visits to one of the Centers in USA.

Swamiji was extraordinarily down-to-earth. Despite being so well known, he never assumed any airs about himself. As Swami Sarvapriyanandaji beautifully noted in his lecture, Swamiji had the rare ability to make you feel as though he had known you for a long time—even when you were meeting him for the first time. What was even more remarkable was that you yourself began to feel that you had known him before. That sense of immediate, effortless connection was unmistakable.

One incident, which still remains vivid in my memory, speaks volumes about his humility. Swamiji was staying in the third-floor guest room across from the elevator. I was assigned to usher him to the dining hall. Elevator use being an infrequent one, I led him toward the staircase out of habit. He gently turned and said, in the most humble and apologetic tone possible, “My dear, my knees are not very good; I cannot walk down the stairs.” I am sure he was well aware of the elevator, yet he did not insist on taking it outright. Only after seeing the number of steps did he make that request—and that too with such a supplicating humility. It immediately filled me with shame, embarrassment, and awkwardness that a Swamiji had to speak to me in that manner. I apologized and promptly took him to the elevator. Though simple, this incident reveals how deeply connected Swamiji was with everyone around him — his instinctive adjustment to circumstances, his complete absence of self-importance, and the profound warmth conveyed through his characteristic address, “My dear,” which truly went straight to one’s heart.

Friendships Fall Off

By G. L. Krishna

We often underestimate the importance of intellectual compatibility in forging deep friendships. Having lost a couple of good friendships solely due to ideological divergences, I have pondered deeply on this topic. As a part of that, I have often tried to recall if there have been episodes, in the lives of great men, of ideological divergences leading to friendships falling off.

Vivekananda, as a young monk, had a raging appetite for scriptural scholarship.  His questions were sincere and his disagreements, severe. His quest for a genuine scholar took him to one Pramadadas Mitra of Varanasi. Pramadadas was a Sanskrit scholar of high renown. The young Vivekananda wrote numerous letters to him with a view to get his doubts clarified. While in Varanasi, the two of them spent several hours discussing scriptural topics. Their common interests made them close friends. In one his letters, Vivekananda thanks him profusely for his "broad, generous heart."

Vivekananda: The Infallible Discerner

By G. L. Krishna

Christmas Eve is a special day for the admirers of Vivekananda and the Mission he built. It was on this day in 1886 that would-be monastics of the Ramakrishna Order firmed up their resolve to organise as a brotherhood.

Baburam's (later known as Swami Premananda) mother had invited her son's friends - Narendra (later, Swami Vivekananda) and others - to Antpur, their native village. One December evening, the friends gathered in a temple there, lit a sacred fire, and immersed themselves in deep meditation. An overwhelming spirit of renunciation filled the air, and the youthful Narendra spoke movingly about the life of Jesus Christ. They all decided that their lives would thenceforth be dedicated to the realisation of two goals: self-realisation and service to the world. Ātmano mokṣārthaṃ jagad-hitāya ca. The young men discovered later that it was the night of Christmas Eve and were pleasantly surprised.

It is evident from the above episode that Vivekananda and his brother-monks held Jesus Christ in high esteem. Even to this day, the centres of Ramakrishna Mission have a tradition of observing Christmas Eve with solemnity and fervour. Vivekananda's fondness for Jesus is exemplified by another fact. Wherever he travelled, he made it a point to carry two books. The Bhagavad Gita was one; the other was The Imitation of Christ!

A Prostitute as Guru

By G. L. Krishna

An introspective involvement with the sensate is often the gateway to the spiritual. Feeling the ugliness of evil is perhaps the surest way to get rid of it. Here is the story of a prostitute whose life exemplified this truth. Krishna narrates it to his beloved friend Uddhava in the Bhagavata.

Pingala spent her evenings looking for mates in the busy streets of Videha. "Ah...he's my amour," she would think, casting longing glances at handsome passers-by. Whenever someone got enticed, she would spiritedly chase him - only to discover, at the end of the liaison, that the experience was superficial and unfulfilling. "Had, having, and in quest to have extreme," she would thus chase man after man.

One fine evening, a strange weariness came over her. She had grown tired of endlessly looking for the right man - a man who would satisfy her needs of both love and money. The search was tiring, but so were superficial liaisons. Coupled with the weariness was remorse about the life she had lived.

The Holy Lure of Sri Ramanashramam

By G. L. Krishna

I have been a regular visitor to the ashram of Sri Ramana Maharshi in Tiruvannamalai, Tamil Nadu (South India). Spending about 4–5 days in the holy precincts of the Ashram has become a cherished biannual ritual for me. 

I have often reflected on what pulls me toward this sacred place. As devotees of Arunachala would attest, while the pull is deep and real, its full nature defies definitive description. A devotee is like Matthew Arnold’s poet, who feels that sharing the deepest truths is challenging: 

Some secrets may the poet tell, 

For the world loves new ways; 

To tell too deep ones is not well 

It knows not what he says. 

I cannot, I am afraid, fathom those deeper aspects of Arunachala’s pull. So, this piece will focus only on those “secrets that I may tell.” 

Tell the Truth, with Love

By Dawn Raffel

In October, I attended Swami Yogatmananda’s talk at Divya Dahm in Queens, NY. I had gone to this temple twice before, both times to hear Swami speak. The first time, I entered tentatively. As someone who does not come from a Hindu background, I was somewhat taken aback by all of the deities—dozens of them, all throughout the temple. Initially, it felt overwhelming. Yet as I continued to sit, what I had tried to understand intellectually began to sink in: There were so many deities that, paradoxically, they had to be One, with many aspects.

This time, I entered the temple eagerly. It was the month of the Durga puja, and Swami’s talk centered on the divine feminine and Holy Mother. The lecture was beautiful, and yet it was an exchange during the question and answer period that has continued to reverberate most powerfully in my mind. The question was posed in a language I don’t understand. Perhaps the specifics of the question don’t matter, because Swami’s answer, in English, is universally applicable: “Tell the truth, with love.” To this, he added, “because the truth is love.”