Say It!

Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open

Say what you need to say

- John Mayer

saraalata - honesty, straightforwardness, simplicity. Along with humility, the foundation for spiritual life (according to Radhanath Swami)

So let’s be candid, shall we?

I would like to take a moment of appreciation. This is for the person who condemns me face-to-face, the person who writes an e-mail of appreciation, the person who approaches me to shake my hand in congratulations, the person who apologizes on a phone message, the person who encourages me with a smile, the person who leaves a note of ‘welcome back’ on my door, the person who expresses their love with a hug, and [smile] those who leave a comment on my blog in appreciation. Your saraalata touches me.

Few people read this blog, I know. But those who do, let me say that you have inspired me in my photography and my writing more than you know. So here’s my moment: Thank you.

And that’s all I needed to say.

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The Valley Song

The first time I listened to this song, I felt utterly humbled and grateful to my guide, Radhanath Swami, and to Krishna for His mercy.

The Valley Song
by Jars of Clay

You have led me to the sadness
I have carried this pain
On a back bruised, nearly broken
I’m crying out to you

I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy

When death like a Gypsy
Comes to steal what I love
I will still look to the heavens
I will still seek your face

But I fear you aren’t listening
Because there are no words
Just the stillness and the hunger
For a faith that assures

I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy

While we wait for rescue
With our eyes tightly shut
Face to the ground using our hands
To cover the fatal cut

And though the pain is an ocean
Tossing us around, around, around
You have calmed greater waters

Higher mountains have come down
I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy

To connect with the song, listen here (I encourage you to just listen to the music and close the window on the slideshow):

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Money and a Deadline

[The following is an essay that I wrote for an Honors scholarship application. I addressed the prompt: "Describe your most exciting and rewarding educational experience." My Honors professor chuckled and remarked, "Well, there's nothing like money and a deadline for inspiration." Wish me luck. I'll find out if I've been awarded mid-July.]

Essay – Bhakti Roberto (0700-6689)

I have never taken a music lesson in my life. And yet, here I am facing nine expressionless teenage girls… and they’re my students. For an entire semester, I’m going to teach them the basics of singing and rhythm. But as of right now I realize I’m getting something I hadn’t bargained for – these girls are going to teach me what it takes to reach them.

What have I gotten myself into?

We commence class, and as I outline my curriculum, my stomach sinks slowly, gazing out to listless faces. “Any questions?” I ask rather nervously. Silence. I try a new angle. “Um, does anyone have any experience in leading kirtan before?” [Kirtan is a form of worship singing call-and-response.]

One girl tentatively raises her hand.

I smile. “Nice, Nanda.” I pause and mischief flickers across my mind. I challenge on the spot, “By the end of this semester, each of you will have lead at least one kirtan,” Gasps go round the circle.

“But, we can’t – can’t do that!” one girl stammers.

I grin. “Oh yes you can.”

So begins the most exciting and rewarding educational experience of my life. Teaching isn’t like being a radio, broadcasting information. Rather, I have found, teaching is a bit like playing basketball, and the ball gets passed from one player to another… and I’m the coach. The players create their game, and I help them play their best.

But coaches aren’t born – they’re made. One day I show up late, and the entire class is scattered. I’ve learned a lesson. From then on, I show up ten minutes early, every class. I learn that no relationship grows without respect.

One day I coax and cajole a girl to sing but she refuses like a mule. I stay after class with her to chat and laugh with her, barely discussing music. Lo and behold, our very next class… she sings. I learn that no joy of knowledge from a student grows without friendship with the teacher.

The last day of class, I glance around at these girls who I have grown to love, and that they will soon scatter to all corners of the world. Who knows when I’ll see or sing with them again? I learn acceptance.

The day several of my students will be graduating, I’m rushing about finishing their end-of-semester project. I arrive late. Too late. I’ve missed the graduation ceremony. When I arrive, one girl rushes up to me and gives me a huge hug. “Hey, Bhakti, you missed the graduation!” she exclaims.

“I know,” I say glumly. “I’m so sorry.”

“You know, Nanda mentioned you in her graduating speech,” she says.

“What?” I ask, astonished.

“She said that through your music class, she learned to sing through having you as a friend,” she smiles. “You made an impact, Bhakti.”

I pause and feel tingles spiral down my spine. I close my eyes for a moment. An impact.

“Yeah, and you missed it!” she adds, grinning. I laugh and punch her on the shoulder, and then we run over to where all the girls are. I hug every one, especially Nanda.

Now, it’s tradition at this school that they throw the graduating girls into the pool, sari and finery and all. When every one of those freshly graduated girls, shrieking and on the verge of tears, are dragged into the pool, they turn renegade and cry out, “The teachers! The teachers!”

Eyes turn to me. Oh god. Help me.

I’m attacked! Chased down, five girls finally capture me, kicking and screaming. They haul me to the edge of the pool, and with one final scream they dump me into the water in my beautiful, new, red sari.

When I reach the surface I glare scathingly at my students laughing from the edges of the pool and those next to me… and break out laughing and smiling, exhilarated. Well, I did kind of deserve it for missing the graduation.

I learn that love comes in unexpected ways.

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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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