Seeking the Essence

We park the bus at an outpost, locals staring at us curiously. We throw on our gamshas, chattering and laughing, and traipse into the jungle. We wind along the path… we’re getting closer… I can hear the muted roar through the rich, dripping jungle. And at last we emerge onto a precipice… to overlook a thunderous, misty waterfall, the water eddying in deep blue/gray pools.

When I retire from my adventures of exploring the hot spring waterfalls, I join a crew of those in a special spot to allow the hot water to pound on their heads like a massage. As we lounge there, Mahajan Prabhu approaches us with a rock.

“Look, gold,” he says. I lean forward, dubious but suddenly intensely curious. “See? When you turn it in the light…” he holds out one of his black rocks and I take it in my hands. My scientific brain kicks in as I turn it this way and that.

“No, I think the river has just pounded this rock in a certain way, in certain places to make it shine…” I say, but I’m entranced.

I return Mahajan his rock. “I think it’s just some kind of fool’s gold. Where did you find it?” I ask.

“Over here, in the rock bed,” he gestures me over. I hop off my rock ledge (my spot immediately taken by Amal) and follow him across the stream.

Mahajan shows me how to look for the rocks with gold. “You pick the black ones up, turn them this way and that, let them catch the light…”

I settle into the rocky bank and begin my search. To my surprise, I find that nearly every rock shimmers with flecks and stripes of gold, if only I turn it in such a way to reflect the light.

Spellbound, I sit there for a long time, sifting through stones, searching for gold. Some fellow Bus Tourians pass by and inquire into my curious quest, and then continue on their way.

But a beautiful realization begins to blossom inside of me: saragrahi. Seek the essence. Right now, I am seeking the essence. And with the Vaishnavas, it’s a bit like this. Everyone looks like a simple stone. But with a careful eye, I can search out the gold in everyone – not by direct glare, but rather a sideways tilt. It’s the little things someone does, when no one’s looking, that burnishes them gold, that gives a Vaishnava their subtle glory.

And my work, as a saragrahi Vaishnava, is to find that gold, and bring it into the light.

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Join Me On My Meander

(This is an entry for taking photos – in your mind. Taken straight from my Mexico journal, the following post is simply here to transport you…)

We near our destination as the sun turns golden and begins its descent. We abandoned civilization a long time ago; our bus zigzags on a crazy mountain road through ash-green forests. At one point, the ocean reveals herself in a staggering, breathtaking view – in which the entire Tour gasps – and then we’re plunged back into the roads.

We reach the bottom of the mountain, pass a security checkpoint (military men stomp in and stomp out in their boots, then direct us to the nearest beach with a grin and a wave), and we then drive down some even MORE outlandishly OUT-THERE roads. And all this is going on in a surreal golden light, as if we’re in a dream.

We pull in. When I climb out, Manu calls, “Go, go! You only have two hours ’til the sun sets, then we gotta go! Use your time wisely,”

I am greeted by a villager pulling water from his stone well for his vibrant, pushy goats. Chickens dash about. Thatched huts surround me in a sweeping semicircle.
I hear the waves crash in the distance and the salt on my skin and tongue. I walk to the ocean, feeling the cool sand in my toes, the wind in my hair. As I emerge from the little village of thatched houses, my jaw softly drops in wonder.

The ocean. The mountains. The setting sun. The beach stretches off to my left to meet the towering mountain in the distance – the one we just drove down – and to my right the sun sets on another majestic mountain. And here we are in the valley, facing out to the deep blue Pacific and her shimmering waves.

After so many straight days of traveling, I feel peace flow through my veins. I dash into the amazing water, then take off sprinting. I run and run amongst the waves until I bend over catching my breath, laughing.

I look back to everyone else swimming, tiny figures in the distance. The sun is setting behind them, and I revel how the misty air seems suffused with gold, silhouetting those who walk amidst the sand.

I continue on, breathing in… breathing out, soaking in every moment. I know: soon it will be back to the bus and more traveling.

I then observe a fascinating work of art in nature, forming before my very eyes. As the wind blows across the sand, ripples and rivulets form. I watch, entranced, as the sand then channels through these rivulets like sashes of gold, whispering, rising to life then melting away.

As I continue on my japa walk, two villagers on horses – riding bareback – gallop past me, their shirts clinging to their chests, the horses’ manes and tails streaming behind them like banners. They ride off into the distance, becoming tiny figures then finally disappearing. I wonder what it would be like to be that free – the villager OR the horse. Imagine living so deeply in nature.

When I return from my very long meander down the beach, the sun has set and the valley is filled with a soft twilight glow. Everyone has left the beach except for a crew of jolly potwashers. I join their company and capture some photos, laughing and chatting, and I feel my spirit soften after such intensity of this first week of the Tour.

As we board the rumbling bus in the cool, soft blue evening, I turn around to gaze out over the thatched roofs to the empty sky that hovers over the sand and ocean, the stars emerging. A thought runs through me like a current: I’ll be back. One day, I’ll return. It will be years from now, but one day I’ll stand on this ocean again, appreciating nature and revelling in life.

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Getting To Know You

Manu announces his Mission: Impossible plan to get us on the road again as we’re all bundled into the back of the bus in the freezing evening. Basically – because this is a Saturday night and no business on Sunday – we’re going to have to pay some brave souls mafia-amounts of money to come and work on our now-even-MORE-messed-up radiator so that our entire tour doesn’t get pushed off the schedule.

Somehow, Manu’s grinning. Actually, everyone’s smiling, weirdly enough.

And so there we are, piled into the back of our still, silent bus, with nowhere else to go and nothing else to do but enjoy each other’s company.

So of course, I head up some getting-to-know-you games. We play some games that send the bus roaring in laughter and finding out maybe a little too much information! And then I muse that we should go around and all answer one question. We’re debating what it will be when Amanda chimes in,

“How about: Do you believe in True Love? Soulmates? Twin Flames?” Everyone’s response is a bit incredulous and on the snickering side, but then I say, “How, how about it? Let’s do it. Okay, Aravinda, do you believe in True Love? Twin Flames? Why or why not?”

And so begins one of the coolest group conversations on the entire Bus Tour. Sometimes the conversation rockets into a riot, yells and laughter abounding. I love my position as facilitator to keep it moving (and civil . Every person contributes something fascinating, often drawing the theme back to Krishna conscious relationships and what it means to truly love someone. Even Chai – the super-quiet, sporty teenager – responds to the question.

“No, I don’t believe in True Love,”

“Why’s that, Chai?” I press.

“Because it’s not real,” he replies with a profound ring. Moment of silence. Then someone claps their lands. Then another. Slowly the applause builds. “Bravo!” “Hear, hear!”

After everyone responds, our night draws to a close as we disperse to brush our teeth in the dark. As I prepare my bunk, I reflect that I have come to know some of the people on this bus more closely in the span of two hours than if I had lived around him or her for two years.

Hear, hear.

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Una nota de Tulum

La Aventura.

A part of me wants to stay in this, keep going and going and going with this otherwordly experience. The people, the places, and the gloriously stuffy, cramped bus. Ah yes, the last time I came on the winter Bus Tour I felt this way: I don´t want to go home.

Not yet.

I feel so blessed to chill with every single person on this Tour. All 23 of us. And at the same time, I feel as though we´re all like straws in the ocean, coming together for this incredible bonding experience… only to drift away once again.

Whatever the case, I have some incredible adventures that I´m sure you´re dying to hear.

But right now I´m at an internet cafe in Tulum and I gotta run.

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The Value of My Question

Appreciation. Let me relate an experience.

It was the morning after LA Rathayatra, and I slept terribly. I awoke to a dark and silent bus at around 5am, buzzing with raw nerves. I thought how impossible it would be to get back to sleep, so I decided I would take a shower and go chant in the front of the bus.

And as I went in to use the bathroom, Manu passed me (of all people, I swear, HE was up) and said, “Change of plans. Radhanath Swami is going to be on THIS bus, instead of the boy’s, in about a half an hour. We’re driving to the LA temple right now to pick him up. The bathrooms need to get cleaned.”

That’s all he said before he whisked in to clean a bathroom. I blinked in response. What?

Without thinking too much, I cleaned the other bathroom. I took a shower – which soothed my nerves – and dressed in fresh clothes. Outside a blue light began to filter through the world.

With some hesitation, I slowly opened the door to the front of the bus. My heart skipped a beat. Manu and Radhanath Swami both turned around. I just sat down to write in my journal.

There I was in this cool, blue morning, driving along some California highway, sitting about two feet away from the very person who gives my life meaning. I stayed quiet, though. I wanted to ask Maharaj a question, but I wanted it to be thought out and real.

So maybe a half an hour went by, and I was meditating on a question the whole time, gazing out the window to the eucalyptus trees and the golden light illuminating the rolling terra-cotta hills. I couldn’t decide. So guess what? I asked the question that I have been asking for years, to almost any bloke who crossed my path.

“Maharaj?”

Radhanath Swami turned around. “Yes?” he replied.

“May I ask you a hypothetical question?”

The corners of his mouth twitched. He pronounced, “Yes, you may ask me a hypothetical question.”

I took a breath. “Would you rather be blind or deaf?”

He paused and became serious. “Either way, as long as Krishna allows me to serve Him. I pray that being blind or deaf would only draw me closer to Krishna.”

I laughed and dared, “Yes, but Maharaj, you’ve got to answer the question; you’ve got to choose one.” I really wanted to hear Maharaj’s choice. I’ve been asking this question for so many years and have received so many different answers and reasons. His would surely settle the case.

But his reply shall remain with me for the rest of my life, precisely because I was not expecting it.

He spoke in return, “Yes, but I believe the value of your question lies in appreciating being able to see and appreciating being able to hear, and not so much that I must choose. Your question allows one to consider how important each sense is to live our lives.”

I sat there, astounded to silence. I replied quietly, “You know, I’ve never thought of it like that,”

Maharaj then turned around and we all resumed our chanting of japa. I pondered his reply, realizing all these years that I’ve never felt fully satisfied with anyone’s response, ever. There were always holes or counterarguments or debates that sprung up.

And yet there I was, void of all reprisal.

After awhile, Maharaj then turned around again. He said slowly, “Bhakti lata, your question is like having two daughters and asking me which one I would rather have die. Each one is so precious and unique.” He paused. “Because of your question, I am now listening to the maha-mantra as we chant as I have never heard in my life, and gazing at these Deities – ” he gestured to the framed photo of Radha-Madhava propped up on the dashboard of the bus – “with appreciation for Their smiles like I have never seen in my life.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

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Reminisce…

Sometimes my mind turns to Mexico and the beauty and adventure of such a vivid country. The photos transport me right back there, so here is a little photo essay to glimpse into the eye of the winter 2005 – 06 Bus Tour.
Group shot at Mexico city temple. I believe one of my coolest experiences in Krishna Consciousness happened here. After the Sunday Feast kirtan, most of the Bus Tour troupe left during Bhagavad-Gita class for the simple fact that, well, it was in Spanish. And yet I stayed… and understood every word. I sat there, utterly enthralled. I experienced – didn’t just read about – that Krishna philosophy reaches into every corner of the world, no matter the culture or language. Srila Prabhupada ki, jai!On top of the Pyramid of the Sun, you can see the Pyramid of the Moon over our shoulders. Yeah, this WOULD be those ghastly pyramids where they sacrificed millions of people to the Sun God, believing the sun would not rise if they didn’t do so (which I think is a load of B.S. … I think the priests were power-tripping.)“This New Year’s harinam is INSANE!!!” We rocked it out in La Plaza de Los Toros in Mexico City. In about twenty minutes, hundreds of people in the Plaza were dancing and smiling with us. We were already 45 minutes into 2006 before I glanced at the giant clock and realized it was a New Year. That’s how amazing this was.
A clearer idea of the insanity. And no, that’s not really Bus Tour or Mexico devotees. Those are the Mexicans.

These little Mexican village boys were hilarious! (Spiderman? Batman?) They joined us for campfire bhajans and absolutely LOVED us.Turns out they loved Lord Jagannath, too. Check out the boy in the striped shirt’s expression.

I sang in the shade, closing my eyes, listening to the ocean and feeling the breezy shade of the waving palm tree above me. Then, a boy I had been playing chess with earlier made his way over (and eventually his papa and uncle). I then smiled and shared in my halfway-Spanish the beauty of chanting. I have no idea who caught this gentle moment. Christmas Day in Mexico, and we got some snow… well, from a distance. We shared our realizations of Christmas and feeling humble while in the presence of this breathtaking mountain, El Popo.
This sunset in Acupulco stole my breath away. I went on a long walk away from the crowds and the soccer games that lined the entire beach. I hummed, and then finally sang at the top of my voice, when not a soul was in sight, Mama Mana Mandire.

“Oh, please, Krishna Murari, may you always reside in the temple of my heart.”

(This was just a tiny, tiny glimpse of Mexico. I can post more if someone is interested.)

Guess what? We’re doing it again. Winter Bus Tour, 2007-08, Mexico. Stay posted to Krishna.com/bustour or contact me.

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Toronto Rathayatra 2006

The day dawns bright. I love Toronto Rathayatra. There’s just something about Toronto – the energy is electric.

“Bhakti, you gotta get in there and liven it up.”

“What? Me?” I reply, incredulous.

“Yeah, got a tune yet?”

The thing is, when it gets to me, the kirtan IS alive, and I feel so strange taking over the mic. Everyone stands poised, the drummers looking to me. I grin and begin. I feel the electricity from the get-go. The rhythm rocks and voices echo off the skyscrapers. Woo-hoo!

And then, the mic cuts out.

It blinkers on a couple times, then dies, and doesn’t come back on. No way. I blink in a moment of disbelief. The mic just had to die on me.

After that heart-stopping moment of shock, I grin and continue on – the show… must go on. So I continue singing, raising my voice to the challenge, free from the wiring and electronics and speakers. After all, this is what it must have been like in Lord Chaitanya’s time.

As we make our way down Yonge Street, we hit an intersection and the parade halts. Suddenly a rush of people flow to our cart – Lady Subhadra’s cart – like water into a valley. The kirtan builds and builds as hundreds of people in cars, buses, on the street, and in the stores look on. I reach in from the core of my voice to sing over the drums and raise my arms and close my eyes. When I open them, arms are raised to the sky and thunderous voices resound as the Rathayatra kirtan reaches a beautiful crescendo

For a moment, it doesn’t make a difference: Puri or Toronto.

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