Mastering the Mind: The Mind as Friend, the Mind as Foe--Lessons from Dhyāna Yoga and Julius Caesar

By Dr. Tilak Verna

Swami Yogatmananda opens his monthly Sunday discourse in Storrs, Connecticut on Dhyāna Yoga — Chapter 6 of the Bhagavad Gita — by chanting a verse that lands with quiet force:

“उद्धरेदात्मनाऽत्मानं नात्मानमवसादयेत्…” Elevate yourself through the power of your mind, and not degrade yourself, for the mind can be the friend and also the enemy of the self. (6.5)

Before he can explain further, my own mind — quick, restless, and eager to prove Krishna’s point — darts away to Shakespeare. Cassius’s voice from Julius Caesar rises uninvited:

“The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars, But in ourselves…”

And with a private smile, I hear myself think: Was Shakespeare a Vedantin? Of course not. But the very leap my mind makes is the perfect illustration of what Krishna is teaching. The mind wanders; the intellect must guide it home.

What Can We Claim to Know?

By Dawn Raffel

I am nearsighted. I wouldn't dare get behind the wheel of a car without my glasses, but sometimes I take them off indoors. Last week, while in a room full of people, I took off my glasses and my gaze fell on some embroidered fabric, maybe a hundred feet away. In that fabric, I saw the image of a man's face--a scowling one at that. Taken aback, I put my glasses back on to get a better look. With my vision corrected, I saw that there was no face, only a pattern of shapes. My mind, memory, and emotions had put together shapes (already a construct) in a way that was false. So startling was this misperception that I took my glasses off and put them on again to be sure. The result was the same. Glasses off: face. Glasses on: no face.

Immediately, I was reminded of the Vedantic parable of the snake and the rope. In the darkness of ignorance, a coiled rope is seen as a snake, causing fear. In the light of truth, it is revealed that there was never a snake; it (and the threat it posed) never existed. The mistake was the result of superimposing the fears and ego of maya onto reality.

The snake and the rope are symbolic, intended to help us understand the difference between ignorance and truth. But what of my mundane "face" and "shapes"? Were the shapes real because I had on my glasses? Were they real because other people in the room would have reported seeing the same thing?

Swami Vivekananda, Illuminated

By Dawn Raffel

On my way out to the west coast for a work trip, I decided to stop for a day in Chicago. Specifically, I wanted to see a temporary installation at the Art Institute, where Swami Vivekananda’s words are written in lights on the risers of the grand staircase.

As a child, I had spent many hours in the Art Institute. My parents were both raised in Chicago, and although I grew up in Wisconsin, we frequently visited. My mother had studied there as a young woman and my aunt worked in the gift shop--but I hadn't a clue about the spiritual significance of this beautiful building until a few years ago. Now I wanted to see it anew, especially while the installation was up.

On entering, I figured I'd need to ask where to find it, but it was right in front of me, just steps from the main entry, and steps from where Swami Vivekananda had once stood. The words of his famous speech, beginning with "Sisters and brothers of America," run up the risers, so you can read them as you ascend. The staircase has two points of entry, east and west, with a landing in the middle. From there, it splits into four prongs, as Swami Vivekananda’s words continue to multiply and rise.

How to Spot a Fake Guru

By G. L. Krishna

Sri Ramakrishna often cautioned about fake gurus. As we witness the sad spectacle of superstar gurus falling down, it is only natural to remember his picturesque description of fake gurus:

“People with little occult power gain such things as name and fame. Many of them want to follow the profession of a guru, gain people's recognition, and make disciples and devotees. Men say of such a guru: ‘Ah, he is having a wonderful time. How many people visit him! He has many disciples and followers. His house is overflowing with furniture and other things, People give him presents. He has such power that he can feed many people if he so desires’.”

“The profession of a guru is like that of a prostitute. It is the selling of oneself for the trifle of money, honour, and creature comforts. For such insignificant things it is not good to prostitute the body, mind and soul, the means by which one can attain God. A man said about a certain woman: ‘Ah! She is having a grand time now. She is so well off! She has rented a room and furnished it with a couch, a mat, pillows, and many other things. And how many people she controls! They are always visiting her.’ In other words, the woman has now become a prostitute. Therefore her happiness is unbounded! Formerly she was a maid-servant in a gentleman’s house; now she is a prostitute. She has ruined herself for a mere trifle.”

"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."