Meeting of Disciples and friends of SDG
The Veterans of Foreign Wars Hall
845 Hudson Avenue
Stuyvesant Falls, New York 12174
There is plenty of parking near the Hall. The facility is just a few minutes’ walk from SDG’s home at 909 Albany Ave.
10:00 – 10:30 A.M. Kirtana
10:30 – 11:00 A.M. Presentation by Satsvarupa Maharaja
11:15 – 12:30 P.M. Book Table
12:30 – 1:15 P.M. Arati and kirtana
1:15 — 2:15 P.M. Prasadam Feast
Baladeva Vidyabhusana at [email protected] or (518) 754-1108
Krsna dasi at [email protected] or (518) 822-7636
SDG: “I request as many devotees as possible to attend so we can feel the family spirit strongly. I become very satisfied when we are all gathered together.”
******
Śrī Caitanya-caritāmṛta, Madhya-līlā 20.124–125: “O great learned devotee, although there are many faults in this material world, there is one good opportunity—the association with devotees. Such association brings about great happiness. . . . .”
Srila Prabhupāda: “Therefore, our Society is association. If we keep good association, then we don’t touch the darkness. What is the association? There is a song, sat-saṅga chāḍi’ kainu asate vilāsa, te-kāraṇe lāgila mora karma-bandha-phāṅsa (Gaurā Pahū, verse 3). Sat-saṅga. Sat-saṅga means association with the devotees. So the one poet, Vaiṣṇava poet, is regretting that, ‘I did not keep association with the devotees, and I wanted to enjoy life with the nondevotees. Therefore I’m being entangled in the fruitive activities.’ Karma bandha phāṅsa. Entanglement.” [Conversation with David Wynne, July 9, 1973, London]
We have read in the story of Ajamila how when an old man inadvertently called out the name of Narayana, even the Yamadutas could not take his sinful soul to Yamaraja. The Visnudutas intervened and said that because this man has chanted the holy names even once, you cannot take him. Even Fear Personified (Yamaraja and the Yamadutas) are afraid of the holy name of Krsna, and one utterance of that name can chase a band of ugly, deformed monsters.
******
“Choose your poison.” It’s better to be clear of the pain. The chanting charms are felt by those who know the art of chanting to please Krsna. It becomes a thrilling exercise for them. The bland chanter counts his quota, devoid of bliss. He hits a home run into the upper deck rarely. He has to improve his swing by hard work.
******
Chanting japa is the most important exercise in the day, and I am not satisfied with my performance of it. Krsna sees I am trying, but not so successful. He will give me more mercy when I try harder to do it with devotion.
******
We chanted for a while with the heater on in the car. It was sixty-two degrees, but a good alternative to chanting indoors. Facing the sea and watching the sky gradually grow lighter. The walk was good, and I almost felt as if I could take an extra lap. The porpoises were out at that time. People were exclaiming to each other about them, and a man tried to photograph them. Hare Krsna Hare Krsna, Krsna Krsna Hare Hare—the rounds were awake. You don’t get sleepy if you can walk.
******
“Simply by chanting and hearing of the transcendental name, form, etc., of the Personality of Godhead, Sri Krsna, one can achieve the cessation of unlimited miserable conditions. Therefore what to speak of those who have attained attraction for serving the flavor of the dust of the Lord’s lotus feet?” (SB 3.7.14).
You take life easily, as if you had all the time in the world. The fact is different. The fact is your time is very limited, and you should be immersed in bhajana, but you are not, not twenty-four hours a day. You do your minimum quotas and then float. You could be reading more and chanting more. Within your health limits, there is still time to improve and increase your contact with hari-katha and hari-nama. I’m preaching to myself and to anyone who reads this.
******
When Arjuna asks what one should think of at the time of death, Lord Krsna replies that one should fix his mind on Him. Because whatever you think of at the time of death, you attain that position in your next life. In the Bhaktivedanta purports to the Eighth Chapter, Srila Prabhupada repeatedly emphasizes the chanting of Hare Krsna, Hare Krsna, Krsna Krsna, Hare Hare, Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare as the easiest and best way to think of Krsna at the end of life. And in a humble state of mind, more tolerant than a tree, one should always go on chanting — not waiting for the moment of death, which may be very troublesome. Time spent reading the Gita is well spent.
******
“O my Lord, persons who are bereft of the all-auspicious performance of chanting and hearing about Your transcendental activities are certainly unfortunate and are also bereft of good sense. They engage in inauspicious activities, enjoying sense gratification for a very little while” (SB 3.9.7).
So many things can go wrong in the body, the complicated machine. And they do go wrong. You go to the doctor and show him what’s wrong. He gives you something for it. You go on chanting Hare Krsna and hope for the best.
******
In the meantime, life ebbs out. Are you chanting merely the outer shape of the holy names, material sound? Or do you chant with a pure heart of love and longing to serve Krsna?
******
D.: chants his rounds in his mind because he cannot utter the sounds due to his vocal cords and inability to breathe correctly. He asked me for advice. I told him to concentrate on the syllables of the Names, even though he is chanting them silently in his mind, and to hear within. He writes in his letter, “The only positive result I recently got, through an intent effort, was to focus my mind on the picture of the maha-mantra, which is in the temple, and to have defeated the sleepiness and to have significantly reduced the time for each round. I consider this a good result for this lifetime. ”
pp. 114-16
Happy is the man who can pour warm, or even hot, water on his body in a cold bathroom tub. Happy is the man whose body steams when the hot water hits it. He’s happy because he dries off as fast as he can while hearing Srila Prabhupada speaking in that tone of voice he so much loves to hear, such as when he was dictating KRSNA book in 1970. He’s happy because he knows he can run out of the bathroom and through the kitchen, where he’ll stop and take his medicine mixed with honey, and then into here; happy because he can turn on the gas stove and sit by this fireplace to write.
That’s only the beginning. He is happy in relation to the Lord because he is serving Him. I am no Sudama Vipra. I didn’t go to school with Krsna, and although He probably could recognize me on sight, I don’t expect the same reception Sudama received. Still, I’m fortunate. Srila Prabhupada will recognize me, as he always has:
“Oh, Satsvarupa, you have come? How long have you been here?”
“I just got here.”
Then he ’ll mention to me the names of the other devotees who are present and give me some service. What can I say? Will I bring him the chipped rice of my notes from the last days of the year?
Nine days left and this one already running out. I love the way a day grows and rises, then slips into a valley only to rise again toward nightfall. Last days.
Everything comes to us according to our destiny. If we receive the mercy to spend time with a pure devotee, we are receiving more than our due. Pure devotional service is beyond fate. It is wholly spiritual.
The devotees in Belgium once put on a skit of Sudama Vipra visiting Lord Krsna in Dvaraka. They performed it on the indoor stairs of the castle. That’s a dramatic staircase, with European fixtures. We all sat in the front hall, and the pastime was pantomimed against recorded music. Nice costumes, nice actors and actresses. A Western flair. I saw it just before leaving for Vrndavana to celebrate Karttika in 1992. I went to that Karttika, heard what I heard, and still confess that when I chant nothing happens. I just can’t pay attention. What the hell. You know too.
Words coming out slow this morning. I keep looking to see how many pages I’ve accumulated. Need to end up with six. The poems seem hard to break into. The fire is also burning slow, which is lucky since I am almost out of wood.
The parcel that was sent from America contained food ingredients and prepared food. It also contained used microcassettes and one volume of the Srimad-Bhagavatam. I guess it really is lost in the mail. M. says a hungry Irish postal or customs clerk probably opened it and ate the contents. I find that hard to believe, and prefer to think that it has been held up somewhere, waiting for us to pay duty because of all the tapes or something. By now, the prasadam will be stale.
Read a poem about Ray Carver when he was a boy, fishing. He was mad about catching fish. He might have to become a fish in a future life since he tortured and killed so many of them. It’s possible. Life is that cruel. Carver knew he was being cruel because he was after love and art. Nature doesn’t forgive. He should have known that, although he probably didn’t.
Ignorance abounds. Thinking of a Godbrother who has left Krsna consciousness. He knew better, but still turned his back on Vedic knowledge. I met him two years ago in the Boston temple. He had become obese and grown a beard. He said, “I am now into an Emersonian-Ginsbergian kind of romantic vision of reality. That includes not knowing the truth. It’s better than having pat answers.” What a lot of schmaltz that is. Yes, schmaltz and horse manure and plain ignorance. I can ’t express it all. I’m not used to speaking straight because I am in an institution where we are always very careful about etiquette, and sometimes because of my position, I have to say something I don ’t completely mean.
I was angry for days after meeting that brother, and I wrote about it and even drew his picture. It made me angry to see him deserting Vedic knowledge for obvious ignorance.
But I suppose he has his rights. This brother, and Ray Carver too, wanted to be true men and true writers. May Krsna save them both.
pp. 32-36
I am waiting for my invitation to one of the nine presidential inaugural balls. It had better come soon because it’s only four days away, on January 8, President’s Day, corresponding with the disappearance of Mahesh Pandit and Udharan dasa Thakur. A woman who interviewed the director of the ball said, “Why not just have one ball for the military men and send all the other money overseas for the military effort?” The ball director replied, “No, there are many worthy people serving in this country who also deserve the award and recognition, such as the firemen, policemen, teachers, postmen, disposal workers, entertainers, educational people, teachers of all variety, artists, friends of the President, and so on.” No, there’s no way I’ll be invited. And even if I were, it’s too late for me to get ready. I don’t even have a blazer jacket, what to speak of a full suit, and if they require tuxedos, I’d have to rent one, and we’re short on money for the whole affair, travel to Washington, etc. And what would I do there in my anti-Bush, anti-Republican Party attitude, unable-to-dance wallflower. I could keep a little notebook of joy for my own ecstasies, but that would look foolish, and even subversive, scribbling down notes while the bands played on. Some security official would probably approach me and escort me out. You’re supposed to drink champagne, dance with the ladies, and have some credentials.
I think it was St. Augustine who said that a man of God can find joy even in the smallest things in the world because they are all reflections of God Himself. That’s a very joyful point of view, very broadminded, too. Not just the Catholics can do it, but anyone, anywhere. Surely you’ve seen a ladybug—orange body, black dots—crawling up your arm. Isn’t it a wonder? Oh, but some things are hard. But there’s beauty there too, on the other side of the coin, as you see starkly, right in your face, the mortality of all things. That’s something that will turn you to the eternal as fast as you can say “Jackie Robinson.”
Speaking of the President’s balls, there’s a poem from Cold Mountain, in ancient Chinese, by Han Shan:
The wife of Lord Tsou of Ti-yen, the mother of Sutu of Han-tan,
both of them well along in years,
both of them women with pleasant faces,
yesterday happy to go to a party,
but, their clothes being shabby, they were shown to the rear.
only because their hems were frayed,
they got nothing to eat but some leftover
cake.
—Poem #15 from Cold Mountain by Han Shan,
translated by Burton Watson
Shambala Books
Ah, but at least I have my poems, my novels, so there’s no need to hanker for Presidential balls. I will be well known soon by all my books. What does Han-Shan say about that?
Here we languish, a bunch of poor
scholars,
battered by extremes of hunger and cold.
out of work, our only joy is poetry;
scribble, scribble, we wear out our brains.
Who will read the works of such men?
On that point you can save your sighs.
We could inscribe our poems on biscuits
and the homeless dogs will deign to
nibble.
—Poem #10 from Cold Mountain
But here’s a poem I was particularly looking for, to ward off attraction to pretty girls, not put their pictures on my cork board and say “she’s a nice devotee.”
A curtain of pearls hangs before the hall of jade,
and within is a lovely lady,
fairer in form than the gods and
immortals,
her face like a blossom of peach or plum. Spring mists will cover the eastern
mansion, autumn winds blow from the western lodge
and after thirty years have gone by,
she’ll look like a piece of crushed sugar
cane.
—Poem #9 from Cold Mountain
Svarupa Damodara began to speak in
great anger and called the poet a
fool. He said he had no faith in the two Lords.
He had described Lord Jagannatha as made of
dull matter, and he had described Lord Caitanya
as a spark and not the supreme
fire. Seeing the poet‘s unhappiness Svarupa
advised him how he could derive benefit:
“You must approach a self-realized Vaishnava and hear
from him.‘ Upon hearing the proper
explanation, the poet fell down at the feet
of all the devotees with a straw in his mouth.
Thus he obtained shelter at the lotus feet
of Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu.
Hearing this, I chanted in fear of writing
something wrong in Krishna consciousness. I
have to strictly follow what
Srila Prabhupada has taught, and I will be
safe. I chanted my rounds in humility
and prayed not to deviate.
The Deities of Radha-Govinda
protect me and allow me to pray to Them.
I get up close and offer incense and recite
first the supreme qualities of Radharani
Then I move to Her consort
Krishna, who is the Supreme
Enjoyer. It‘s a time of intimate
reciprocation with the
Divine Couple, and then
I pray to Hanuman
that I may live on for years to
fill out the autobiography.
The music part is established as
rendering of what I hear
and directing it to Krishna in faith.
The poem-song is offered to Radharani. When I
perform arati to Her I address Her
as the hladini-sakti of the Lord. I say Krishna
will never enjoy a woman of the material
world. He enjoys with His own pleasure
potency, and there is no tinge
of sense gratification. I admit I
don‘t have entrance to these love affairs. But
I like reading Bhaktivinoda Thakura‘s Bhajana-
rahasya where he advocates that one should
aspire to be a gopi-manjari and take
birth as a cowherd girl in Vraja
and marry a cowherdsman. But one doesn‘t
enjoy with one‘s husband. One
makes a parakiya relationship
with Krishna. In the case of the manjaris,
they don‘t want a direct
relationship with Krishna. Even if He
tries to force Himself on them, they
cry “Go away!
This body belongs to Radharani!”
They please Krishna by making
arrangements for rendezvous with Radhika.
I enjoy my private arati to Radha and Krishna
and express these manjari aspirations because all
the Gaudiya acaryas are in that mood,
and I think that there is nothing wrong
in praying that way in the morning.
It is done with musical kirtana
with my musician friends and we
do it with rhythm in mind
in love of Radha-Syama.
pp. 108-111
Turn as sincerely as possible to Krsna; gradually it develops, slowly, surely. I hope that it will develop to the point where I can summon all of myself and turn to Him. Feel more of the inadequacy of myself and independent ego. You have to practice feeling your faults rather than being accustomed to them. Sometimes you try to turn to Krsna, but you can’t do it. You draw a blank. So practice itself is good.
We shouldn’t try to pray for ourselves but to please God, to please Krsna. When we talk to Him, we want to please Krsna by asking Him to mold us into His devotees, into devotees of Prabhupada. We understand that He likes us to turn to Him—man-mana bhava mad-bhakto—and to offer obeisances to Him all the time. We do this to please Krsna by exerting our own individual will in the act of obeisance and prayer to Him. Even though it is not a pure soul who is turning, at least we are turning and aspiring for that.
The life of prayer helps assure me of going below superficial levels—that superficiality that sometimes exists in temple life and in the association between individual devotees in their preoccupation with the finances or the externals of preaching events. One has to be careful not to criticize any of this because Prabhupada wanted active preaching communities; he wanted us to work hard, not just to contemplate. So we have to be careful, but still, we note and feel any superficiality. Some devotees even express this disappointment by saying, “That which we joined the movement for, which was a kind of mystical experience or tangible relationship of love of God through Prabhupada, we feel waning in ourselves in the absence of Prabhupada.”
So I am trying to find it by my own direct cultivation of prayer to Krsna and Prabhupada. As I share these, it’s a kind of preaching. I have to remember, and not disregard or demean this pursuance of inner life. Hardly anyone understands it or appreciates it, but this is what it is, and I should appreciate it and assure myself that it’s not selfish. It’s not turning away from the devotees, but it is trying to bring something which at least I feel is lacking in myself.
Aside from my own prayer, I am very sure to practice reading Prabhupada’s books more carefully because he is accessible there in a deep way and not superficially. Also, I study the experiences of other individuals like the mystics, who reach great peaks of union with God, and who cultivate time alone to try and develop this inner essence even when attending temple programs. I try to see it there, to share it with others, and to give examples.
There is a good quote in St. John of the Cross’s Dark Night of the Soul regarding spiritual gluttony. He is talking about people who are very attached to the pleasurable sensations they feel in spiritual practices. They get “vexed” when they have to end their spiritual practices, and they demand sensory feelings of God’s presence rather than simply abiding in faith. He says these persons have the same defect in the practice of prayer:
“For they think that all the business of prayer consists in experiencing sensible pleasure and devotion, and they strive to obtain this by great effort, wearying and fatiguing their faculties and their heads; and when they have not found this pleasure, they become greatly discouraged thinking that they have accomplished nothing. Through these efforts they lose devotion and spirituality, which consists in perseverance, together with patience and humility and mistrust of themselves, that they may please God alone. For this reason, when they have once failed to find pleasure in this or some other exercise, they have great disinclination and repugnance to return to it, and at times they abandon it.”
He says they are like children who don’t act on reason. They spend all their effort trying to read different books and different kinds of meditations in pursuit of this pleasure. He says they have to enter the dark night to be purged of the childishness of always wanting pleasure in things of God. God doesn’t give it to them, knowing that they will be gluttonous and get in trouble.
pp. 11-14
Simple Truth. Begin. It’s just a title
but could lead to something. They say
the truth is complicated, ambiguous
and definitely not Absolute. Pilate:
“What is the Truth?”
The truth is Krishna, and it’s my
job to recite it, param satyam
dhimahi. Param Brahma, param-
dhama. Only a few will understand
and accept.
Tell also your little truth
as you discovered each day.
Admittances: I like to depend on
Esgic and wouldn’t mind if the doctor
gave me something even stronger.
Truth. I walk. I walk. I still
have male sex potency, but
I subdue it. I’m not sure what the truth
is about my painting and writing. Is
there only one single judgment? “Your
writing has no value, egoistic,
indulgent. Your painting is trash and
it’s a hype to say it’s good and ask
disciples to exhibit it.”
What is the truth?
Can I make it myself?
Lord Krishna, what do You say? Until
I know, I have to make my truth the
execution of what I love and do it in a
Krishna conscious way.
***
I don’t suffer much,
I am
not black and didn’t go through ’Nam
so, what do I know?
Can’t claim my own kind of
suffering equal to theirs. Cuck-koo the
bird sings as I write. I’ve had a few
bad headaches behind the eye, was
in a few glass-cutting accidents, but
no, I don’t know much suffering.
But in a past life…and a future… Is
suffering the only thing that counts?
One writing teacher said, “Show them
your stripes (from whipping).”
How about knowledge and bliss and
eternity? Wanna hear?
Yeah, tell us what you know,
culty. I don’t even say I know, but
I believe in Vedic knowledge that we all
suffer more or less life after life,
birth, death, disease, and old age.
We should live in this life so that
our sufferings count as tapasya,
and we offer our lives to God
and pray to Him, seek out His
pure devotees, seek shelter at
His feet from all the sufferings.
And get out of this cycle of birth
and death.
***
“I don’t get it,” the editor wrote in
my poem. And “Why don’t you
end it here, the rest is anticlimactic, you
were writing only because the music hadn’t ended.”
She’s right.
My day alone. So many midges
in the yard I had to run inside
the house. This white cloud
house that belongs to a friend. I
own nothing. Huh. Try to take
away my sweater and pants
and dhoti and books, and I’ll
fight for a while and then let it go.
I can’t fight well. No more attempting.
If they say you must
quit this, I’ll say war is declared
but I’ll give in. Well, is there
anything you won’t let go or
give in?
Yes, if they tell me to stop writing
privately. Or stop spending quiet
time alone. Stop being selfish. No poems, no
yajnas, no prasadam, no
Prabhupada, we won’t allow you.
To this I may say “yes” to their
faces but never in truth.
pp. 129-31
This institute has, at present, six inmates. Two are overweight, husky, wrestler-type Indian men, maybe a father and son. Then there’s me and Madhu. And two middle-aged Hindu women. All six of us had to gather at the “prayer hall” this morning. It’s stocked with exercise equipment and ping-pong tables. We breathe in and out as the doctor orders, but I refuse to vibrate oṁ. We don’t have to sit through Māyāvādī prayers. But are we saying them?
Breathe in and out
take the corpse pose
without pillow—
this is India.
Take it easy and get well
in the atmosphere of Tamil
Nadu as the bus goes
by leaning on its horn.
The doctor crams reading the
newspaper in between seeing
patients.
⁜
Prabhupāda, be kind to us. Give us service to Kṛṣṇa. At airport, a group gathered sitting around a large photo of Satya Sai Baba. They were greeting all those who came off the plane. I stared at the photo, but didn’t look at his followers. He had a mop of hair and sat casually. One has to be careful not to commit offense, but neither can we accept bogus incarnations or those who blaspheme Lord Caitanya and Lord Kṛṣṇa.
I am just here, you see,
to better myself with
mud packs. I heard they
might stimulate the veins’
ability to contract and expand
and maybe standoff that spastic
motor disability.
I heard that
Kṛṣṇa is kind to all His
devotees, but the internal
are the best and sometimes one
may promote oneself to
that level by His grace.
⁜
Man, you gotta get used to brushing away flies. If you were a cow, there would be no end to it. Of course, your consciousness would be duller.
One could say any ISKCON temple
is a clinic for the soul,
for intensive development of bhakti,
but why don’t we feel that way?
Temples are work and politics and
pressure and rituals, and long
lectures in the morning and
people often bored or not
liking each other.
They haven’t solved basic problems
such as how to make money
or sort out psychological disorders—
yet we are striving for the highest
spiritual ethic and ecstasy.
“It’s a madhouse,” said one
GBC guru. His friend
replied, “And you are one of
the leaders of the madhouse.”
⁜
In a place like this, with so much emphasis on the body, you have to bring your own bhakti program and practice it. Nourish your Kṛṣṇa consciousness. It’s up to you to draw yourself close to the fire in the heart just as someone who has been out in the cold draws near the fireplace. The fire of bhakti is kindled by the holy names. Try for it.
Even though I sometimes complain about ISKCON, I know it’s not the institution’s fault in particular. All institutions suffer from similar diseases. Prabhupāda told Gopāla Ācārya in Madras that thinking of Govinda’s institution was as good as thinking of Śrī Govinda because both God and His institution are absolute. Still, without Śrīla Prabhupāda’s physical presence, it’s harder to love and harder to live in his institution.
⁜
Sign in prayer hall: “No prayer means no peace.” Then why is the so-called prayer hall filled with exercise machines—a simulation bike, a rowing machine, a ping-pong table. Why do we do our yoga exercises in there instead of pray? (But I shouldn’t be a cynic in a clinic.) There’s a Bala-Kṛṣṇa mūrti in the hall.
I want to remember Lord Caitanya while the cleaning lady cleans my bathroom. Is she humble? She looks sad and weighed down by caste and karma. It’s awkward, our respective karmas being all that separates us and makes me materially her superior and her having to clean my bathroom. She takes her time, and I fidget.
In the treatment hall, they placed mud packs on my abdomen and eyes, and I took a steam bath and shower. It’s part of the routine. I asked my body whether he wanted to talk to me. I recalled how abusive I have been toward it, but what else? I wish it could bear up better under duress.
Mentioned to the doctor what my headache is. He said the mud pack would cause dilation and contraction in that area, so it should help.
This collection of Satsvarūpa dāsa Goswami’s writings is comprised of essays that were originally published in Back to Godhead magazine between 1966 and 1978, and compiled in 1979 by Gita Nagari Press as the volume A Handbook for Kṛṣṇa Consciousness.
This second volume of Satsvarūpa dāsa Goswami’s Back to Godhead essays encompasses the last 11 years of his 20-year tenure as Editor-in-Chief of Back to Godhead magazine. The essays in this book consist mostly of SDG’s ‘Notes from the Editor’ column, which was typically featured towards the end of each issue starting in 1978 and running until Mahārāja retired from his duties as editor in 1989.
This collection of Satsvarupa dasa Goswami’s writings is comprised of essays that were originally published in Back to Godhead magazine between 1991 and 2002, picking up where Volume 2 leaves off. The volume is supplemented by essays about devotional service from issues of Satsvarupa dasa Goswami’s magazine, Among Friends, published in the 1990s.
“This is a different kind of book, written in my old age, observing Kṛṣṇa consciousness and assessing myself. I believe it fits under the category of ‘Literature in pursuance of the Vedic version.’ It is autobiography, from a Western-raised man, who has been transformed into a devotee of Kṛṣṇa by Śrīla Prabhupāda.”
The Best I Could DoI want to study this evolution of my art, my writing. I want to see what changed from the book In Search of the Grand Metaphor to the next book, The Last Days of the Year.
a Hare Krishna ManIt’s world enlightenment day
And devotees are giving out books
By milk of kindness, read one page
And your life can become perfect.
Calling Out to Srila Prabhupada: Poems and PrayersO Prabhupāda, whose purports are wonderfully clear, having been gathered from what was taught by the previous ācāryas and made all new; O Prabhupāda, who is always sober to expose the material illusion and blissful in knowledge of Kṛṣṇa, may we carefully read your Bhaktivedanta purports.
I use free-writing in my devotional service as part of my sādhana. It is a way for me to enter those realms of myself where only honesty matters; free-writing enables me to reach deeper levels of realization by my repeated attempt to “tell the truth quickly.” Free-writing takes me past polished prose. It takes me past literary effect. It takes me past the need to present something and allows me to just get down and say it. From the viewpoint of a writer, this dropping of all pretense is desirable.
Geaglum Free WriteThis edition of Satsvarūpa dāsa Goswami’s 1996 timed book, Geaglum Free Write Diary, is published as part of a legacy project to restore Satsvarūpa Mahārāja’s writings to ‘in print’ status and make them globally available for current and future readers.