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.

The Mild Hindu

By Br. Aadi, Probationers’ Training Center, Belur Math

In Swamiji's epic lecture tour across India recorded in "Lectures from Colombo to Almora," delivered after returning from his momentous trip to America, he broadcast his discerning insights about India’s national character, her place and purpose in the world order, and the correct line of her future development. In the first public lecture he delivered in the East, in Colombo, he mentions the term “the mild Hindu” which Westerners of that time used as a subtle insult. To the modern Western world this trait may appear as a weakness, but Swamiji here states that “if ever a reproach concealed a wonderful truth, it is in the term, ‘the mild Hindu’.”

While other nations have advanced their ideas in the sphere of human thought “with the blast of war trumpets and with the march of embattled cohorts,” we find India’s wonderful spiritual thought more deeply pervading sphere of human thought thanks only to its sheer endurance over time and to its fascinating nature. For both of these qualities, the principal cause is peace or mildness. Swamiji says that this harmonizing spiritual peace of the Indian nation is like the gentle dew that silently brings into bloom masses of roses. This divine peace or mildness is at the core of the message which India must give to the world, and this of course must be done without hypocrisy, for peace is the only firmament upon which an enduring and fascinating religion can be practiced and preached.

Happy to be Unhappy

By Rajeswari Balasubramanium

This is FIFA World Cup season. Once an old grey-haired lady sat with her grandchildren to watch a FIFA crunch match between two equally high-rated football (Soccer) teams. She had zero understanding of the game, nor any real interest in it. After a few minutes, she could not take it anymore. ‘Just rank stupid; 22 young boys are scrambling for passion of one ball! Can we not stop this non-sense by buying 22 balls and giving one to each?’ she asked.

How many of us enjoy the thrill of watching two powerful teams battle it out on the field? In fact, almost every sport is built on the same principle: two or more competitors striving for something limited—a ball, a trophy, or victory itself. Imagine a soccer match where every player is given their own ball. Would anyone watch it? The excitement disappears when there is nothing to compete for. The fun begins precisely because there is a challenge or a struggle.

The paradox of fun in suffering becomes even more evident in the smallest events of our daily lives. How many of us willingly pay money to shed tears watching sad films, scream on amusement park rides, or shiver inside a sleeping bag while camping in the wilderness?

Watering the Root

By Dr. Tilak Verma

Recently, we were sitting with Swami Yogatmananda at the kitchen table—one of those informal gatherings over tea where conversations naturally flow from everyday matters to profound spiritual questions.

On this occasion, in response to a devotee's question, Maharaj quoted a well-known doha by Abdur Rahim:

एकै साधे सब सधै, सब साधे सब जाय।
रहिमन मूलहिं सींचिबो, फूलै फलै अघाय॥

A single thing rightly pursued accomplishes all;
Pursue everything, and everything is lost.
Water the root, says Rahim, and the tree will abundantly bear flowers and fruit.

On the practical level, this verse teaches the value of focus. If we concentrate on one essential skill or one important task, many other things naturally fall into place. When our attention is scattered among countless pursuits, our efforts get distracted, weak and little is truly accomplished.

Some Thoughts on Rhinos

By Dawn Raffel

On a recent visit to Providence, while a group was sitting around the kitchen table, Swami Yogatmananda suggested I write a blog post about rhinoceroses. At first, I thought this was a joke, but after pondering it for a while, I decided to take the challenge.

The topic arose because I had been talking about my abiding interest in elephants. I wrote a blog post about them over a year ago and am enmeshed in writing a novel in which an elephant figures prominently. I mentioned that while visiting an elephant orphanage in Nairobi, I also saw an orphaned baby rhino.

"Why don't you write a blog post about rhinos?" Swami said.

"But I don't know anything about rhinos."

Swami laughed. "You don't know anything about elephants either, and still you wrote about them."

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

By Dr. Tilak Verma

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?