Seeking God Through Writing

By Dawn Raffel

I've spent much of this year completing a novel that I've been researching and thinking about since 2021. With the rise of artificial intelligence, the question becomes, why? What's left for humans writing books or, for that matter, making music or art? AI can generate manuscripts so fast that Amazon now limits the number of books individuals can publish per week. The quality is improving too, much to the dismay of the literary world. More than one recent prize has been rescinded when the authors were caught "cheating."

So can AI write a great book? Maybe. But one thing it cannot do is give you the experience of writing a book--and this experience, this work, can be sacred. In Jnana Yoga, Swami Vivekananda writes, "Now, human language is the attempt to express the truth that is within."* This seems like a simple statement, but the more you think about it, the more profound it becomes. 

When I am fully engaged in writing, I become so inwardly focused that I lose track of time and physical surroundings. Words emerge that come from an inner place much deeper than my intellect. Often, fiction writers will say things like, "The characters just took over." But the characters aren't real. God is real. "The truth that is within" -- the Truth -- is real. The writing is the attempt, however imperfect, to express it. 

We Just Have to Do It

By Robin Leo Hoffmann 

I was 19 when I first came to Varanasi, the last stop of my first trip to India. Back then I often stood in front of temples and knew that something was happening in there that I could not understand yet. Ten years later I am back, and I want to meet an Aghori, ideally interview one. So I simply ask everyone on the street. Varun, whom I meet on the stone steps by the river, recommends the Aghor Foundation. An ashram on the edge of the city. 

The ashram feels very quiet, peaceful, I am welcomed warmly, and then I am already sitting in the interview with Sadhu Ji, called by his guru to lead this ashram. His guru changed the path of the Aghoris. If Aghoris are only avoided, if they cause fear, shame, disgust, they don't serve their actual purpose. So he kept the philosophy and changed some of the daily practices. An Aghori is there to help the homeless, the sick, street children, the outcast, to serve all of humanity.

What I experience there is selfless devotion. Sadhu Ji works the field himself, on the other side of the river. The ashram takes children off the street and gives them food, a bed, a school, a family. They grow everything they eat themselves. The children are in awe of him, and at the same time they are cheeky and dare to talk back. He laughs a lot with them, he plays a lot with them.

Random Acts of Brahman, Part 3 of 3

By Chet

In part two we left off saying: “But Brahman and randomness were not done with us yet.”

Now for the rest of the story.

Hot, hungry, and thirsty, we started walking toward the parking lot—with the prized quahog shell tucked safely in my pocket—when the campers spotted a woman walking a small dog.

The campers ran toward the pair, eager to pet the dog.

Its owner was an elderly lady dressed in traditional summer white.

In our fast-paced world, most would have given a polite smile, allowed a quick pat, then, tugged on the dog saying, "We have to go now."

But this day did not belong to the rushed world of human schedules. It belonged to the unfolding mystery of the universe.

Random Acts of Brahman, Part 2 of 3

By Chet

Our carpool group arrived at Slater Mill a few minutes later than the other cars.

The timing, the traffic, a detour around some road work, and a glitch in the car’s GPS --everything seemed to have conspired to make us late for the tour.

Yet, those seemingly independent random events would completely change the course of our day.

The tour was fully booked; there was simply no room for any more visitors.

Gathering our group, we went back to the car and set the GPS for the waterfront at India Point Park.

We left Pawtucket behind in an upbeat mood, filled with enthusiasm and anticipation rather than disappointment.

Random Acts of Brahman, Part 1 of 3

By Chet

This post describes a sequence of incidents which occurred during a field trip to Slater Mill in Pawtucket, Rhode Island. The field trip (or excursion) was part of the curriculum for the Vedanta Society’s annual residential children’s summer camp.

Is it possible to observe subtle connections among the events which form our days—connections which are deeper than simply a sequence of seemingly unrelated incidents?

Who actually is the designer of each day, with its strange itinerary of events that momentarily pass through our consciousness? Let us investigate.

We in the West are taught from a young age to plan everything. We map out our careers, schedule our weekends, and budget our time to the hour.

But if we look back to the best moments of our lives, how many of them were actually on our calendars? The truth is, true magic rarely follows a schedule.

Purity of Food and Purity of Mind

By Tilak Verma

The meal was elaborate: tamarind rice, sambar dal, Chettinad paneer, masala aloo and baingan. The occasion was a satsangha, a gathering of spiritual seekers in the company of a monk. Naturally, the conversation turned to food, though not merely its flavors or taste, but its deeper spiritual significance.

After the meal, we gathered around the Swami in a serene setting overlooking the bay. He began by reciting a celebrated verse from the Chhāndogya Upanishad:

Āhāra-śuddhau sattva-śuddhiḥ;
sattva-śuddhau dhruvā smṛtiḥ;
smṛti-lambhe sarva-granthīnām vipramokṣaḥ.

"When food is pure, the mind becomes pure. When the mind is pure, awareness becomes steady, and all bonds are loosened, leading to liberation."

The Parable of the Pizza

By Dr. Tilak Verma 

We were at a retreat with Swami C, as we affectionately call him, an American monk of the Ramakrishna Order.

The topic that morning was living in the present moment. After a brief meditation, Swami C shared a story from his early days as a monk, a story that unexpectedly featured a slice of pizza.

Freshly ordained and overflowing with the joy of monastic life, he stepped out of the monastery in San Francisco for a walk. His mind was calm. He felt complete in himself, needing nothing.

Then it happened:

The aroma of freshly baked pizza drifted from a nearby restaurant.