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.

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?

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."

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.”