1 Viraha Bhavan Journal September 26, 2017 About a month ago I became physically exhausted with weakness and illness. Mentally and spiritually I lost my inspiration. As a result I gave up my practice of daily writing which I have been doing consistently for many years. I even stopped doing my japa for a week. Because I was attached to having people read my writings, I began posting short excerpts from the books I had written over the years on Facebook and the new website satsvarupadasagoswami.com. But no new writings; I was retired, and with no regrets. But last week in a phone conversation with my secretary, she advised me to keep writing “anything and everything, the things going on in your life and your mind.” Her suggestion didn’t set off a big light within, but enough to start this pen moving without any plans. * * * Rama Raya is here visiting for a few days. He is the leader of the harinama party in NYC. He is about to go on a pilgrimage to Vrindavana, India. There was a rumor (started by Madhumangala) that RR said if Krishna gave him indication to stay in India, he would do it. I spoke with him about it today. I said if he stayed in India, the NYC harinama will fall 2 apart. He assured me that he is committed to the harinama in NYC. I was relieved to hear it. * * * Sucandra and his wife, Uttara, arrived here from Spain for five weeks of service in the asrama. They are both in their 70s but fit to render service: Uttara by cooking and cleaning, and Sucandra by outside work in the yard and garden. * * * September 27, 2017 Many devotee friends, and even my personal doctor, do not seem to comprehend the crippled condition of my left foot. It all began in 1964 when I was 24 years old. Under the influence of LSD, I jumped out of a third-floor window and broke both my heels. I was in casts for six weeks, and when I came out my right foot was healed, but my left foot and ankle were deformed and painful. I was able to walk and even dance, but as the decades passed, my condition gradually worsened. I could no longer take the long morning walks I so much loved. By the beginning of the 21st century I was limping at every step, and my ankle and shin were obviously misshapen. I went to a foot surgeon and asked him if he could splice two of 3 my bones together. He asked me where I had heard of this practice, and I answered vaguely, “From various sources.” The doctor was reknowned in his field, and I underwent the operation. He said I might expect an 80% improvement in my foot. There was a long recovery period. I had to wear a black boot and stay in bed for weeks. When I came out of the boot, I felt no relief. I complained to the doctor, and he said he would perform a second operation where he would take out the metal pieces he had inserted in my heel in the first operation. He did this, but there was no improvement. Months went by and I had several more appointments with him. Then one day he told me there would be no more appointments; he had done all he could for me. I was now on my own. I was disappointed that his treatments hadn’t helped me. * * * After this, I had a physical therapist visit me a few times to teach me exercises to build up the strength in my legs, which had been weakened by so much sedentary life. I am still doing the exercises and they have helped, but I still cannot walk any significant distance. I go outside every other day with Baladeva beside me and I push a four-wheeled walker. I walk slowly for a few yards and stop and rest. Then I walk some more and rest again. I continue this for 15 minutes and that is all I can do. I have no prospects for more improvement beyond this. 4 * * * That’s why I become impatient and feel misunderstood when I’m pushed: When are you going to Vrndavana and Mayapur dhama in India? Can’t they see I’m unable to even walk across the street? Rama Raya sympathized with me. He said, “You don’t have to go. You’ve gone many, many times to Vrndavana and Mayapur.” The last time I went was 2009. Since then I’ve heard that there has been tremendous expansion in building and an influx of many devotee residents from many countries; in particular, Russia and China. What was once a deserted field, Ramana-reti or “the Enchanted Sands” where Krishna and the cowherd boys played, is now filled with buildings, including a “Russian house” right near the ancient Krishna-Balarama tree. The monkey population has increased considerably, and they are more aggressive. Of course, the secret spiritual heart of Vrndavana is still present and available to submissive and determined devotees. I am like one of those persons who Maya keeps away by a mayic covering, because they are not really sincere. That is why I keep my ashrama as “viraha bhavan” – separation from Vrndavana. We have many arca-vigrahas downstairs and upstairs to keep the place like a mandhir or bhajana kutir. Rama Raya said, “Where you are, that is Vrndavana.” I sit in my chair like a sentinel and keep a darsana of Radha- Govinda, Lord Caitanya and Srila Prabhupada. Downstairs, the first plates 5 of the offering are made to the large Gaura-Nitai and then brought up for the Deities here. It is service in separation, but isn’t that the highest form of bhakti? * * * I can’t travel and I don’t need to as long as I am rendering active service and trying to share it with others. * * * What is Viraha Bhavan? Baladeva challenged me to expand on it. “Take it up a notch – the inner nature.” It’s me chanting all 16 rounds of japa, starting first thing in the morning (no later than 2:30 A.M.) Sesa Prabhu said it was unusual that I got so much out of darsana of the arca-vigraha. He reads my poems to Radha-Govinda and was impressed by one where I wrote “while gazing at You, I am ready to move on to my next life.” I deliberately and thoughtfully say my Gayatri mantras. After saying them in Sanskrit, I repeat them in English. For the confidential sannyasa mantra, I say, “I offer my respects to gopi bhava.” Then I add in my mind, “Bhanu Swami says this specifically refers to Srimati Radharani.” Sometimes my mind wanders to mundane thoughts. I interrupt them and repeatedly say, “Please forgive my offenses.” I’ll try more to raise the notches in the Journal and go purely inward. 6 * * * Question from SDG to Nandarani: I am reading a book titled The Introvert Advantage by Marti Olsen Laney, Psy.D. When I first read it, it made a real impact on me. At this time in your life, do you consider yourself an introvert? A recommendation for the book printed on the back cover reads: “In a world of shock jocks, screaming rock stars, and sensational journalism, this book dispels the myth that only the loud and flamboyant get ahead. Its clear step-by-step advice will help introverts recognize and capitalize on their unique strengths.” Does this description resonate with you? Tell me how you feel about it. * * * September 28, 2017 Question: “Elaborate on whether or not you feel you spent your life trying to live up to the expectations of others, or whether you lived up to your own expectations.” Answer: I think I spent much of my life trying to live up to others’ expectations of me. As a dependent child, I lived strictly to please my parents. My older sister and I had a very confidential conspiracy in which we did not comply with all our parents’ wishes, but we did not express this openly. In high school, I did not try to satisfy the teachers or the honor roll students. I sought the approval of the rowdy children who did not strive to 7 make high grades and who made trouble in the classrooms. I didn’t dare to overtly imitate them, but I wanted them to know that I secretly admired them. I followed their example of not studying for exams, and this resulted in me getting mediocre grades. In my senior year, I woke up and realized my poor academic grades would prevent me from qualifying for entrance into a quality college. My parents did not have money to send me away to college, but there were about four city colleges that were free but accepted only students with good high school records. My sister had been an honor roll student and was accepted at Hunter College in Manhattan. By graduating time, my attitude had changed and I very much wanted to attend college. I applied to Brooklyn College but was rejected because of my mediocre high school record. I even applied to various state colleges around the country and was accepted by some, but my parents had no inclination or sufficient money to pay the tuition. Finally an alternative turned up. A small, two-year community college had just opened a year before on Staten Island, where I lived. They demanded no tuition and did not require an entering student to have a high-grade record. After two years, if you received good grades, you could transfer to a quality city college. It was humiliating for me to enter the community college, which was half technology and half liberal arts, but it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Two of the professors, a male 8 history Ph.D. and a female Ph.D. teaching English, were brilliant, dynamic intellectuals, better than any I had when I later transferred to Brooklyn College. I had completely changed from my high school years. I was no longer indifferent to my teachers and trying to win the favor of the rowdies. I wanted to please my charming professors. I wanted them to give me an “A” for my essays. I was becoming a wanna-be intellectual. After graduating from Brooklyn College, my father, who was a reserve naval officer, deliberately lied or bluffed me into thinking I had to enlist in the Navy or I would be drafted into the Army. Later I found out that if I had stayed in college and pursued graduate studies I would have been exempt from the draft. But I was naïve and very much under the influence of my father, so I let him enlist me for two years of active service in the U.S. Navy. I immediately hated it, but I had to fulfill the expectations of the Navy, living like a prisoner on an aircraft carrier. I survived by inner resources and smoking smuggled marijuana at great risk. When I finally got out with an honorable discharge in 1964, I went straight to the Lower East Side of Manhattan, where hundreds of hippies were sharing slum conditions with the Puerto Ricans, smoking marijuana, swallowing LSD and living with their girlfriends. I was poor. I lived according to my own expectations, but I was lonely and unhappy. 9 In 1966 I met Srila Prabhupada, and he completely lifted me out of my misery and made me into a new person. From the first night I attended his kirtana and tried to understand his lecture, I gave up my bad habits of intoxication, illicit sex, meat-eating and gambling. I surrendered to him and wanted to dedicate myself to his expectations. The Movement was very small and just starting. It was intimate. He was kind and warm to me and gave me personal attention. I typed his manuscript and donated money from my job at the Welfare office. That year, 1966, at 26 Second Avenue, was the happiest year of my life. When Prabhupada left New York for San Francisco and later India, I moved to Boston and opened the first ISKCON center there. I wrote to him weekly and he answered right away, satisfying all my questions and guiding me. I was tasting personal service in separation, and it was sweet. Prabhupada visited our Boston storefront and stayed for a month in May 1968, and that was very special. In 1969 we purchased a big house and ISKCON Press moved in, and the population rose to 60 devotees. Prabhupada visited us there immediately after installing Radha-Krishna in the new temple in London, but it was snowing and icy in Boston, and he left for Los Angeles after two days. Prabhupada was traveling widely now, opening new centers. He was doing a lot of management through personal correspondence. I stopped writing to him weekly and wrote only once a 10 month, eagerly awaiting his reply. Things were less intimate, but he regarded me as a senior devotee and respected me. The years went by and I didn’t see him so often, but I worked on his behalf. My essays were frequently published in Back to Godhead magazine. I continued to fulfill my expectations and obligations. In 1972 Prabhupada formed a governing body commission of about twelve male devotees, and he put my name on it. I had to supervise about half a dozen temples in the United States, while I continued to be temple president of Boston. The management was stressful, but I did it as duty. The Movement continued to grow, and Prabhupada turned his attention to India. The annual GBC meetings were tumultuous and argumentative. I did not like them. Outspoken devotees dominated the meetings, and I was mostly silent. When the book distributors started using scam tactics to sell books in the airports, I was disturbed and alienated, and feared we were getting a bad reputation. This continued for some time, and Prabhupada used the increased income for printing books and building temples in India. After Prabhupada passed away in 1977, I assumed guru duties and accepted many disciples – too many. A “formal” guru system was in place, but it turned out to be dysfunctional and unfair. By 1986 a grassroots movement of devotees protested the zonal guru system, and it was disbanded. For some time I had been suffering chronic migraine headaches, and because of