KuliMela Reflections: The Japa Revolution

“My name is Bhakti lata. Several months ago I took a Japa Retreat and a Japa Workshop, and I was deeply affected by them. I have had a deep crisis of faith in chanting the holy name since. I am not particularly qualified or even inspired in my own japa, but I wanted to share my experience with all of you and to somehow keep growing.

“Srila Prabhupada once said that 90% of our progress in Krishna Consciousness can be determined by our relationship with the holy name. Ninety percent.

“So this workshop is about looking closer.”

During the KuliMela Festival, I co-hosted two Japa Workshops, with first Govinda (Alachua), and then Manu Dasa. All I can say is: to teach is to learn. I connected deeply with the holy name through conducting others in their experience.

On Friday morning, after conducting the first Workshop, I walked over to the bhajan kutir. I felt incandescent, glowing with knowledge and experience of the holy name. In this mood, I settled into a bhajan that Jahnavi (England) was leading. I found myself singing the holy name for the call as well as the response. I just didn’t want to stop singing. For the first time in many, many months, I connected with the holy name.

The following morning, I conducted the Workshop with Manu. Although I facilitated the activities, his insight and experience guided the workshop. We ran out of time and the next workshop needed our space, but the flow of realizations had just begun! And so we moved out onto the lawn beneath the trees and continued to share for another 45 minutes.

I do not claim that I am particularly qualified to give a workshop on japa, or even inspired to chant japa. I have no taste for the holy name on my own, but the grace of the Vaishnavas keep me in the fire of realization and inspiration.

¡Viva la Revolución!

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The True Rush

We load our stuff – luggage, Deities, bhoga, pots, propane stove – onto the two boats. When we motor away onto the lake, I am held speechless. Wonder and awe seeps into my body as I behold the magnificent sunset on the volcanoes, the misty far-off valleys, the jungle shores, and the glassy gorgeous lake we glide over, the wind filling my lungs. I can hardly believe I am here, right now, on this little boat, speeding off to some adventure here in this tucked-away corner of the world.

When we approach and anchor at the docks, a glowing woman in a sari and tilak greets us, and I feel as though we’re entering some spiritual abode. The mood gets completed when the other boat pulls in and they’re rocking out to a beautiful bhajan, filling the air with Krishna’s name.

Don’t get me started, though, on when we’re guided to our rooms. Elegant, ethnic, and with a breathtaking view, Prtha, Dhanya, and I take a room on the third floor. We go nuts – jumping and screaming and hugging for the simple fact that we have our own beds. A miracle. Insane. This on a Bus Tour??

After setting down our backpacks, we head down in the quiet evening to the glowing templeroom.

Everyone is arrayed in one giant circle on the warm wooden floors beneath a vaulted roof of palms. We join the quiet circle as the delicate owner of this entire center, Wendy, debriefs us on the ins and outs of this place.

We are then introduced to our Retreat facilitators: Divyambara, Purusha Shukta, and Giri Govardhan. I feel a rush in my veins very unlike the rush from exclaiming over my room or even speeding over the lake. No, this is a rush to draw closer to the holy name.

We end our orientation with a kirtan. Now, coming from such an exhilarating day, I’m kind of expecting a rousing, get-up-and-dance kirtan.

I am softly caught by surprise. Someone dims the lights down low, candles are lit for our beautiful Bus Tour Gaura Nitai deities, and after we array ourselves to face Them, Divyambara begins to sing. Her voice and soft emotion sends chills down my spine.

Aaaahhh… the Japa Retreat has begun.

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Meditations on the Holy Name: Poetry (2 of 3)

A Prayer to the Holy Name

Sometimes you rest
upon my chest
like a burden, like a load
like chains.
Sometimes I wonder why
you follow me, hollow me
and why I give you reign
to invade my ways.
Like a guest
forever living in my head
I wonder why
I invited you in.

But sometimes you dance
upon my tongue
like water, like rain
like sustenance
for my soul.
I listen to a shimmer
of hope, of grace
Your dance is my heartbeat
my breath,
my faith.
Sometimes I wonder why
you have chosen
to embrace me
and erase me
of all of my poison.

Like gold in the fire
you purify me, beautify me
I desire for the desire
to remain in your fire.

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Meditations on the Holy Name: Biology (1 of 3)

My Biology professor stated in class the other day that the American Heart Association has declared – after a massive study of thousands of people – that drinking two alcoholic drinks a day reduces the risk of heart attack and the AHA has recommended to the general populace to drink like the French do.

Why? she asked. Well, alcohol is a depressant, and when you’re relaxed, your blood vessels expand and go “Aaaaaaahhhhh… that feels good. Now blood can travel through me with ease,” So voila, lowered blood pressure. Scientists have found almost zero cases of hypertension in the Mediterranean area, where the people drink wine like water.

I laughed to think that she was speaking about this to fifty college students. And I also felt quite disturbed by her suggestion. My Lord, did she actually think that I would ever get drunk on a daily basis just to lower my blood pressure?

And then she added, “Oh, yes, and you can also get the same relaxation effects by meditation,”

Now I really wanted to laugh. Hm, big decision: intoxication or meditation?

And then she continued, “Yeah, just breathe in and breathe out. Take those damned iPod thingys OUT of your ears – neurons are still firing in your brain if you’re listening to music. Clear your mind of all the million things going on and try this: listen to your heart beat. Just listen. And breathe.”

I sat there, dumbfounded. I claim to meditate for over two hours every day, and yet it has never occurred to me to just listen to the heartbeat of the holy name as I chant. Just breathe. And yet I resist. I keep thinking that I have to THINK of something, to push and push. But something that Giri Govardhan taught us on the Winter Bus Tour japa retreat echoes in my thoughts: quiet determination. When the mind wanders away, gently bring it back. Back to my heartbeat.

Even the American Heart Association swears by it; my Biology professor, too. I do believe I agree with her on this one.

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Tour of Alachua (3 of 5): The Road to My Soul

I have walked this road hundreds of times. If a road had a personality, we’d be the most steadfast and deepest of friends.

I find it fascinating that this road is on temple property, and yet even on Janmastami – the biggest festival day of the year – I can still slip out to the hushed quiet of this winding road.

To the sunrise, the sunset, the stars, heat lightening, the full moon, a meadow of wildflowers, the whisper of Spanish moss… this is my escape.

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He’s Still Here. [Day 2.1]

We rush about, groggily gulping down oatmeal and mumbling tilak mantras. We still only make it out the door in time for the actual program to start, missing our chance to chanta japa with Maharaj. But when we reach Jyothika’s, we find the street and the house quiet. No, seriously, the three of us are the only ones here.

Hm, odd.

But in the living room, I spy the harmonium and Rupa and I decide to sing. My voice goes extra deep and feels husky from the early morning. Rupa plays simple mridanga, and it’s just the two of us. I close my eyes. I sing Guruvastakam, the morning melody immersing me in stillness.

Slowly, people gather. And after some time, Maharaj finally comes down. I end the soft bhajan as soon as he takes his seat. Last night after I had picked up the mridanga, I was so absorbed in playing it that I hadn’t fully soaked in Indradyumna Swami’s special melody for Jaya Radha Madhava. And so now as he begins to sing, tingles sweep across my skin.

I pick up a pair of kartals and absorb myself in the melody. Last year when Maharaj visited Alachua, I was about to leave the templeroom but then froze when he began to sing. I feel that way now, too.

For breakfast, Rupa, Nama, and I sit within sight of Maharaj and discuss the youth in Alachua and ISKCON. In this quiet mid-morning, we laugh and practically shout out our jokes. Maharaj is still sitting where he was for class, chanting his japa intently with eyes closed. Suddenly he snaps them open and commands the three of us.

“There is time for this later. Come, chant japa with me,”

Hushed immediately, we fetch our japa bags semi-sheepishly. We settle around him, but then he commands again, “Face me.”

We do. And in the current and wave of chanting, with Maharaj as my anchor, I taste each syllable of the maha-mantra for the first time in months. I meditate deeper and deeper, as if drinking deeper and deeper.

When Maharaj gets up to finally take some breakfast, the others disperse. I stay, transfixed. He’s still here, I murmur to myself, my hair standing on end. Even though he’s gone… I’m going to keep chanting. My mind turns to my own guru maharaj, Radhanath Swami, and how most of my life he’s not here. And yet… he’s here.

Suddenly I make the connection that you are my inspiration… my map, my compass… but I must captain my own ship. Guru is my guide… and now it’s my turn to rise to the challenge.

When I finish chanting, I feel quiet. For once, I laugh to myself, I’m quiet.

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