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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An English Major’s Humor

Last Friday I graduated with Honors from Santa Fe College with an Associate of Arts degree. The following was posted on my favorite professor’s office door.

A linguistics professor was lecturing to his class one day. “In English,” he said, “A double negative forms a positive. In some languages though, such as Russian, a double negative is still a negative. However,” he pointed out, “There is no language wherein a double positive can form a negative.”

A voice from the back of the room piped up, “Yeah. Right.”

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for life, man.

one of the craziest weeks in school. four major projects. pinnacle world religions project.

relieved.

not writing in complete sentences.

I must share with you my wr project on the Siksastakam Prayers… i believe my experience of krishna consciousness just took a deeper notch.

i swear, school in service to Krishna.

anyone who know me knows education is everything to me.

for life, man.

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Sigh… politics.

Here I am at the Model United Nations conference, representing India. Right now a caucus is going on and my brain is fading on me. I’m losing my grasp on words and my sense of composure. I’m just tired and want to go chant my rounds in the templeroom and the winding sandy road on temple property.

All these politics are starting to seep into my skin. In a way it’s so superficial. Countries of the world can have nice intentions to help others in a restricted sense, but really, it’s all meaningless. “Philosophy has no meaning without good character” Srila Prabhupad said once. My guru maharaj, Radhanath Swami, says in his book Welcome Home that as long as the hearts of men are dirty, there will be wars and pollution and corruption.

I know everyone in this Committee by country. I know no one’s name, including Cambodia – who I’ve been working with hand-in-hand for the past two days!

I wrote the above during a recess at the Model United Nations conference I attended this weekend. I was starting to get fried. When you attend an MUN conference, you ARE your country. Your personal beliefs do not exist. This means you refer to yourself as your country and you refer to others as their country.

I think what tipped me into not caring a SHOELACE happened right after I wrote the above italicized comments, a guy walked up to my table and approached one of my partners with a grin on his face, “The Republic of the Sudan would like to ask the Republic of Cambodia if this is her gum,” he asked. I laughed hysterically… and decided I was going to laser everyone with my OWN beliefs the next time The Republic of India gave a speech.

Fast forward one hour with formal debate back in session. “Thank you, Islamic Republic of Pakistan for your speech. Republic of India?”

I walked to the podium slowly, quietly. “Thank you honorable Chair.” I turned to the thirty countries represented in front of me. “Good afternoon, delegates. A great saint from India, Srila Prabhupad, once said, ‘Philosophy without good character has no meaning’. This means we may work as hard as we can to implement programs or funding, but when other countries take advantage of the poverty-stricken, we only exacerbate poverty. This… corruption fuels poverty. Mahatma Gandhi, one of the greatest proprietors of non-violence, believed that fighting a war with violence only yielded more and more violence. We must begin with ourselves.

“The Republic of India urges all countries to participate and contribute to the World Summit to take place in Mumbai, India, 2009. We must stop poverty at its root, and not feed the problem by exploiting those less fortunate.

“Thank you.”

Countries (people?) were taken aback, I could tell (ha, especially United States). But I was disappointed with myself somewhat. I would have rather said, “cut through this crap, people, we need to set an example as OURSELVES! Stop trying to solve all the world’s problems when we’re feeding the problem, right now, me, you, John and Mandy!” But this diplomatic stuff was seeping into my skin. I did it without second thought, but I connected it with the Resolution we had been drafting for two days for a World Summit on Fair Trade.

But hey, at the nerve wracking voting session, our Resolution passed with the most outstanding voting record.

And I won an award for “Distinguished Delegation: India”.

Sigh… politics. My name is Bhakti, by the way.

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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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