I've Been Fired

Glory to God in the highest, I’ve been fired!
Though my stomach is squirming and doubtful,
The bats in my belfry are singing Haribol!

Haribol! Kalo’ham in word and now in deed!
Haribol! Another life’s over, now I’m dead.

Krishna's been pushing me to something higher,
But there was a quiver in my belly, not a fire.
So praise the Lord, next stop Rishikesh,
and then home to my guru given desh.

There Was No Time Limit (1)

Remember Ram Ray’s prema-vilasa-vivarta?
A true mystery that, for how and why
could Radha ever the fear the day that
Krishna’s love might diminish or die?

And yet she says, "There was a time when love
alone was the only go-between.
There was no need for him to apologize,
no need for either of us to explain.

Ah, for those days, back in the beginning,
when love burst on us through a sidelong glance,
when we felt that love grow and inundate us,
enveloping us in endless expanse.

In that far-off time, there was no contrast,
no bheda of being loved or loving,
no you-ness, no me-ness, no male or female,
for Eros had ground us into a single being.

So, dear one, go now and remind your friend
of the ancient myths of our state of grace;
We all know things have fallen apart,
for he has sent you here to plead his case.

There was a time when we sought no dutis,
needed no one else for mediation--
Cupid himself arranged all our trysts
in the non-dual world of his creation.

Now I can see Krishna loves me no more,
for you have come as his go-between.
I guess that this is the way of all love
with desirable men like him."

Yet, this song’s the one Chaitanya chose
to disclose how He and She are He:
the searing memory of their oneness,
separate for all eternity.

There Was No Time Limit (2)

A very educational experience indeed.
We are now at the point of saying only meaningless things,
every word suspect and analyzed for motive.
That is what happens when the bell tolls for love.

We hear it said and we repeat
That Their loves and ours
are as different as heaven and Hades.
It was never meant to be otherwise.

I imagine how the gopis felt
after they had thrown caution to the cows
and let their one big secret burst into the open
while Krishna’s chariot trundled off,
leaving a trail of ruts, dust and promises.

And when that cloud settled into emptiness,
they had to go on living, to survive,
hollowed out by relentless sorrow,
writhing while all around voices whispered,
or mocked, or excoriated out loud,
and worst of all, being battered by the word
of weddings—not once, not twice, but time and again.

That was no way for a love story to end.
Yet, when the chance came to be alone
in a tent with the Prince in his kshatriya clothes,
they imposed their one condition: they refused
to compromise--it was Vrindavan or nothing.

They wanted back, back to the perfect moment,
from which they had never "moved on."

Nor did they ever threaten to move on.
They were the immovable ones,
while Krishna flitted from battle to battle,
demon to demon,
svayamvara to svayamvara.

Sometimes we hear it said
that Krishna tested the gopis’ love.
And sometimes we hear it said
that Love is the God who,
like a Wild West villain making
his victim dance by shooting at his feet,
makes even Krishna dance with his arrows.

And what use is an arrow if, once it stabs,
does not make the wig of the wounded whirl?

Krishna imposed no conditions,
nor was he testing her, for he himself was busy
failing his own test, though we say he never fails.
He knew she would never move on.

Sanatan Prabhu analyzed the scriptures' data;
he crunched the numbers
and came to this conclusion:
it was thirty-four years before Dantavakra bit the dust
and Krishna threw down his bow and chakra,
and crossed the Kalindi back into Braj.
That is too long for any human being to wait.

So move on, move on.
Renounce the freedom to wail shamelessly.
We can both try to balm the wounds,
we have created in our real worlds;
we can try to return to our dharma lords,
though their reality will always be as dust
when placed beside that eternal moment,
when our windows opened wide to Them.

The Unripe Apple

I made a choice
and not the one I expected.
I am the unripe apple, dear,
not ready to fall from the tree.

Someone said to me yesterday,
If you are not where you are supposed to be,
then God must have made a mistake,
and God does not make mistakes.

I laugh at this argument,
but I am weary of the debate,
and I have chosen honor over glory,
duty over full surrender.

Is there any love in this? I am asked.
Do I have a theology of suffering,
like the Catholic burden of the cross
that is carried in the pain
of having been forsaken?
unbearable in the knowledge
that it was given by God
to be borne?

Perhaps I was not meant for glory,
Some are born just to suffer
and that, in the eyes of God, is their glory.
I must choose the path of honor, my dear,
no matter how much the Divine Couple
has become real to me in your embrace.

So here is a toast to the Sahajiya way,
In this, too, work must come before play.

ॐ तत् सत्

Omega Five

Oh mega ! Omega ! Oh Ma go !
Oh my! Mega was my ego.

These days, I take the bus down Sauvé every day.
Sauvé, how ironic in a synchronistic way--
What Frenchman was saved, from what and when?
From death? From damnation? Now some latter next of kin
has bequeathed his name... redeemed are those who walk this street!

Today I walk; it’s sunny and spring, I feel brash;
I bounce my mala before me like a proud panache--
my banner, my identity, my mark of salvation, my dance
on this road of tenements housing Arab immigrants.
Between two cages, work and home, the japa walk is sweet.

Sauvé becomes Côte Vertu as it starts heading west;
The names waken whimsy that appears like a guest--
Does scaling the hill of virtue lead to salvation,
or does one climb that slippery slope after liberation?
Am I headed in the right direction? Need I retreat?

More ironies… just a hop across these cinder blocks
lies another immigrant generation's white duplex.
I often think of you, as I pass, you of the last Greek sign,
for that is where you sat, in your basement, as I in mine,
just meeting incognito in the world of cyber space.

There was a blessed feeling to those days, a glow
that filled my soul, a luminous sense of "yes, I know";
it made me offer myself to you, in all innocence,
as a bridge to my source (not as a fount of omniscience!).
Oh the hubris! You played Nemesis! End result: disgrace.

Fitting indeed is your name, Omega: That was the End.
I did not break, but even then, my dear, we all must bend.
Every Omega is an Alpha, you in more ways than one.
In my present Purgatory, something new has begun;
in this incredible lightness of being, there's a trace

of visions coming true, of realized insight's weight,
of hope that between Scylla and Charybdis lies an open gate.
So more than anything, this is an apology. You were correct:
I was not "wysiwyg"; there was, still is, a disconnect.
You can speak truth, but without being truth, you're just a cheat.

It has been a wearisome week since these poor lines began;
Thoughts and words haven't flowed as they sometimes can.
The days of rain, snow, wind and sleet told me it's not over:
pain, confusion still run deep. Guru is a kind of lover,
but for all his airs and auras, just a man. It is grace

that you found me wanting. The gods are meant to bring us down
from our flimflam, falseness, fourberie, fraud. And when they frown,
it's nothing but their mercy... Is knowing that salvation?
Is not the discipline of yoga self-satisfaction?
But santosh without sadhu sanga is a complete waste!

What's more: santosh without atma pratishtha's even worse,
And santosh without prema bhakti, the ultimate curse!
In the struggle of the selves, the innermost self must win.
Sri Guru is the guide. The rest is vanity and sin.

--o)0(o--

tat te'nukampAM susamIkSamANo

bhuJjAna evAtma-kRtaM vipAkam

hRd-vAg-vapurbhir vidadhan namas te

jIveta yo mukti-pade sa dAya-bhAk

--o)0(o--

Bus stuck in snow on Côte-Vertu.

Panchapadi

I was forced to reflect, once again, after some respondents on this blog made statements that indicate a prurient interest in the sexual aspects of the sadhana I am supporting. I have to admit that I have foreseen some of these questions and think that if one is solidly fixed in the Goswamis’ siddhanta, one will resist the temptation. Indeed, this is the reason why I have emphasized and will continue to emphasize the following three things:

(1) The necessity of the pravartaka stage.
(2) The necessity of understanding the parallelism between one’s sadhana partner and Guru Tattva.
(3) The necessity of taking the female point of view or identity.

==========================================

viharati vane rAdhA sAdhAraNa-praNaye harau
vigalita-nijotkarSAd IrSyA-vazena gatA'nyataH
kvacid api latA-kuJje guJjan-madhu-vrata-maNDalI
mukhara-zikhare lInA dInApy uvAca rahaH sakhIm

When Radha saw Hari frolicking in the forest,
treating all the women with equal affection,
she felt her own special status had melted away.
Envy and anger arose in her, and she went off.
Somewhere, in a vine covered bower,
where bees buzzed in circles overhead,
she hid, and forlorn in her solitude,
confided to her friend.

kaMsArir api saMsAra-vAsanA-baddha-zRGkhalAm
rAdhAm AdAya hRdaye tatyAja vraja-sundarIH

Krishna, the enemy of Kamsa, took Radha,
the chain that tied his desires to the world,
and abandoned all the other gopis.

itas tatas tAm anusRtya rAdhikAm
anaGga-bANa-vraNa-khinna-mAnasaH
kRtAnutApaH sa kalinda-nandinI-
taTAnta-kuJje viSasAda mAdhavaH

Madhava looked for Radhika everywhere,
his mind burning with the wounds
inflicted by the arrows of Cupid.
Overcome with remorse, he came to a bower
by the banks of the Yamuna
and began to lament.

==================================

And so the eternal cycle begins.
What is the difference between
the Rasas of autumn and spring?

The first tells of God and the jiva,
the second of God and his hladini shakti;
the former is an archetype of the spiritual path,
the latter of the divine comedy.

Both are circle dances,
revolving in opposite directions:
The Bhagavata is the external circle,
Gita Govinda the inner.
Krishna is in the center of the outer,
Radha the center of the inner.

Together they are the center of both.

====================================

I would here like to explain this a little more. But first, another poem, again first posted on GD. This is also for the record, to explain a little about the Bhagavata or Sharadiya Rasa Lila:

Panchapadi

Om ! Sriji ! Purushottam!

O Krishna ! Crusher of sin !
You pull me with this mantra
like a baby calf led by the nose,
like a deer enchanted by the hunter’s flute.

Here in the forest, black as your skin,
I come to you.

O Govinda !
You invade me with your mantra
you cling to me like a second skin
you weigh down my senses
with unbearable expectations.

You are in the Veda and in the cows,
You are in the world and in my senses.
You are in the mantra,
and still I must search for you.

O Gopijana ! O Radha ! O sakhis !
You flutter on every side of the mantra
like petals, effulgent and infinite.
You stand in the heart of the mantra
like pistils, golden guardians of the mead.

You are my gurus, I follow you,
I join you in your song, I sing this mantra.
It is you. It is yours.

O Vallabha! Beloved !
Beloved of the gopis,
Beloved of every soul ! Beloved of my soul!
You have come, O enchanter of Eros,
to tell me you have always been here,
present in the mantra.

Svaha!
I have reached the eighteenth syllable,
The charama shloka:
I throw my soul into the circle of flames,
the Rasa mandala of the mantra.

I have reached the fifth segment,
the final chapter, the brahma muhurta;
the dance is over and I must go home,
I must await again
the call of your flute.

A brief tika on the above: The idea came to me that the five segments of the Gopala mantra (as described in Gopala Tapani Upanishad, i.e. panchapadi, could be seen in correspondence to the Rasa Panchadhyaya. It actually works fairly well.

(1) Klim Krishnaya = first chapter. Krishna calls.

(2) Govindaya = Krishna leaves the gopis who then look for him. (vinda = search or find.) End chapter one, beginning of chapter 2.

(3) Gopi-jana = end of second and third chapters. The gopis meet Radha, their guru, under whose guidance they sing the song that will bring Krishna back to them. Like the Rasa Panchadhyaya, the gopis are central, i.e. in the middle. At the same time, they are the petals on the lotus of the yantra.

(4) Vallabhaya = Chapter 4.
tAsAm AvirabhUt sauriH smayamAna-mukhAmbujaH
pItAmbara-dharaH sragvI sAkSAn-manmatha-manmathaH
You have always been in the mantra: "mayA parokSaM bhajatA", etc.

(5) Svaha = the purnahuti of the last chapter. The yantra of the mantra or the altar of the fire sacrifice is identified with the Rasa mandala. Full absorption in the Rasa.

In this last part, I have made a correspondence between the eighteen syllables of the mantra and other eighteens, like the eighteen chapters of the Gita, which ends with the charama shloka, sarva-dharmAn parityajya, etc.

Most of the other glosses of the names given here are based on the Gopala Tapini Upanishad (1.4).

Mana Manjari

Mana Manjari, you are my polar star;
All paths lead to you, whether you are near or far.
Mana Manjari, my guru,
part of the guru constellation in my sky,
the brightest light, the unmoving one I watch,
the star, I swear, I'll steer this hobbled vessel by.

Mana Manjari, I know, I know,
You never asked to be my light;
It's as dark for you as me, this long, dark night.
But just by being still you start to glow,
when you look at me and say, "I know
you, Jaya, I know who you are."

The firmament is filled with angels of my past--
Kamala, Lata and countless others, Radha's cast
of millions, Gurus all. They dance around
the Sun and Moon; they never fall.

One day, Mana, I will heed your call,
the true imperative of love,
and say, "That's all!" One day, one day at last,
both you and I will end our endless fast.

So'ham

So'ham,
I breathe you in,
I breathe you out,
so'ham.

I suck you in, thirsty and dry,
from farthest edge, the endless rim,
come in, come in, I pull you in.
I wash you in over my lungs,
these sterile, callous, leaden lungs;
I wash you in over my heart,
this burdened, empty, heavy heart.

I draw you in, I spout you out,
I wash you in, I spill you out,
I breathe you in, I breathe you out.

Avagraha, the serpent squiggle
that separates the so from ham,
the this from that, the yin from yang,
the me from you...
this stupid hiss of a squiggle
this stupid hiss of a distance
this Ourobouros separation...
that wraps and circles round and round,
that sucks its tail and swallows down,
that swallows up both black and white
and drowns.

I breathe you in without my eyes,
before, behind, beneath the cries;
in gardens and the palace, too,
glued to this parched skin that dries
for want of your moist'ning sighs.
So! so! so! so! Please don't call this bliss!
What frightful non-duality is this?

I breathe you in, my self goes out
I sing you in, hum my self out.
The feeble light in my inner room
coughs in the breeze and flickers out.

Shankara (India, 7th century CE) speaks of Pranayama thus: "Emptying the mind of the whole of its illusion is the true rechaka (exhalation). The realization that "I am Atman" (the infinite spirit) is the true puraka (inhalation). Finally, the steady sustenance of the mind on this conviction is the true kumbhaka (retention). This is the true Pranayama."

They Call Krishna

They call that Krishna Kamadev
because he makes you crave, he makes you crave.

They call that Krishna Navina Madan:
he drives you mad and then he’s gone.

They call him Manasija, "in the mind born,"
He's all in the mind, but the senses are torn.

They call him Atanu, a real “no body.”
You don’t see him hit, but he leaves you all bloody.

He's Pushpa-ban, firing arrows made of flowers
by which he shows his infinity of powers;
they rain down in fragrant poison showers
piercing entrails so you squirm for hours.

They call him Govind, the cowherd king :
He finds the cows and herds them in.
He found my senses and then went in.
I’d drive him out, but where would I begin?

Without Govind, my world would all be void,
heart devastated, life and hope destroyed.

They also call Sri Krishna "Klim,"
to this my guru-given spell I cling.
I'm drowning, Lord, I don't know how to swim--
so to this mystic, magic spell I cling.

An Autobiography in Names

When I was born I was baptised Jan,
And for seven years that carried on.
I came to school where Jan was strange,
so thenceforth I was known as John.

Bhakta John at twenty, and shortly after,
I became Hiranyagarbha Das.
I was quite the “golden egghead” to some,
but “Hiranya garbage” to the mass.

I was “Brahmachari” for a while
Then became an “Adhikari”;
Then “Vanachari”, finally “Swami,”
but not “Goswami”—someone was wary.

Then Prabhupad left and so did I,
taking shelter of gopi bhav', the Ras.
Lalita Prasad gave the name I now use--
“Joy to the world,” Jagadananda Das.

At first I was Babaji, even Maharaj,
But that changed too, now I'm simply DAS.
I'm "Jagat" too, but I'm not "the world";
You're the world, and I your DASANUDAS.