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?

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.”