Tues. Nov.6/07 - Winnipeg, Manitoba
I guess I reiterate the case of the robes and how they are so eye-catching. They excite or alert the people who notice them. About three years ago I visited Orlando, Florida and stayed with a monk and colleague, Trivikram Swami. An American who took to monastic life as a Hare Krishna devotee in the late 60’s. I ventured off on my walking downtown. As I was just about to reach the central core of the city I was approached by a young chap who pulled over his vehicle. He was a photographer, Michael Brown, doing an assignment for National Geographic covering a story on Orlando, the side of Mickey Mouse’s domain you never see.
Michael asked me if I would be interested in having shots taken of myself viewing the features of this noted city, the good and the bad. I agreed and so the following day we roamed the city for hours, the various neighborhoods with him clicking away on his state-of-the-art-camera. Between shots we naturally talked about our differing lifestyles with mutual respect.
The photos never made it to the National Geographic but my point is that the robes of a monk, a dhoti, Kurta, and chaddar caught this young man’s professional eye and so it struck a friendship.
While taking to my daily walk, this time on portage Avenue again, I met a woman who was thrilled to spot the robes. “Are you Hare Krishna?” “Yes I am.” I retorted. “ I have a sister in the movement. Her name is Sanga. And I’m Tracy………” The robes did it again.
This evening there was a talk at the venue on Maryland street. “Pilgrim Power” was highlighted. The show of attendees was skimpy to start off but the room eventually filled up. My objective here was to attempt to mentally take the audience to the road and try to see the world differently.
7kms.
B L O G S P O T
Sunday, 10 February 2008
Monday November 5, 2007
Mon. Nov. 5/07 - Winnipeg, Manitoba
I was towards the home of our hosts for tonight’s satsang, home program When I met an interested young man at the corner of Sherbrooke and Portage. The lights were red, so I waited and looked at the figure standing next to me.
“It’s cold”, said the oriental man. “Yes it really has suddenly turned into winter here”. I replied.
After nature’s dumping of hail stones the snow flurries came. “This is the first time I’ve seen snow,” he remarked with a child’s excitement in his eyes and voice.
“get ready, there’s more to come.” I rebutted. I wanted to say in an Al Jolson tone, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet”, but I didn’t think he would understand the style or the jargon.
“What country are you from?” I inquired. “Viet Nam’, he said with a smile. We talked a little more but it was time to part and also time to walk. Walking keeps you warm.
It’s almost always the robes that initiate the friendship. Had I regular civilian clothes on the chances of meeting this fellow were slim. Another gentleman pulled over at McPhillips, came out of his car and offered a ride. That’s rare in the city, and in the dark. It was the robes.
Finally I reached the home of Varun where chanting took prominence over the visit. The small gathering was pleased to receive the sadhu (monk) as is customary for East Indian families.
7kms.
I was towards the home of our hosts for tonight’s satsang, home program When I met an interested young man at the corner of Sherbrooke and Portage. The lights were red, so I waited and looked at the figure standing next to me.
“It’s cold”, said the oriental man. “Yes it really has suddenly turned into winter here”. I replied.
After nature’s dumping of hail stones the snow flurries came. “This is the first time I’ve seen snow,” he remarked with a child’s excitement in his eyes and voice.
“get ready, there’s more to come.” I rebutted. I wanted to say in an Al Jolson tone, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet”, but I didn’t think he would understand the style or the jargon.
“What country are you from?” I inquired. “Viet Nam’, he said with a smile. We talked a little more but it was time to part and also time to walk. Walking keeps you warm.
It’s almost always the robes that initiate the friendship. Had I regular civilian clothes on the chances of meeting this fellow were slim. Another gentleman pulled over at McPhillips, came out of his car and offered a ride. That’s rare in the city, and in the dark. It was the robes.
Finally I reached the home of Varun where chanting took prominence over the visit. The small gathering was pleased to receive the sadhu (monk) as is customary for East Indian families.
7kms.
Thursday, 7 February 2008
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Sun. Dec. 30/07 - Montreal, Quebec
I rolled my luggage for a good 4kms down to the bus depot in Toronto ready for a journey to Montreal. Thank God for decent sidewalks otherwise the baggage with wheels could not have survived the torture.
The experience at the bus depot at the peak of Christmas time was nothing but mayhem. Congestion, passenger line-ups were erroneously merged for Montreal and New York, extra buses pulled up to deal with the volume of people but it wasn’t enough, many of us were left waiting, public phones were not functioning with the recent conversion of the new 50 cents charge after the 25 cent hike. I was near the front of the line for the third additional bus when it was announced that now the bus is waiting in another lane. After a mad rush for all to relocate it meant now I ended up at the end of the line. Such disorder! I WAS CONSIDERING A TICKET REFUND AND WENT TO THE TICKET COUNTER. There was no empathy. Fury enflamed me but I found I had no recourse but to cool down, tolerate and drive for humility. I decided to go to the customer services counter. And a woman there lodged her personal complaints in a particularly loud voice saying “ You’re treating me like this because I’m a black woman!” Funny thing is that the person on the other side of the counter was also black. Many things made little sense.
I could not wait to ascend the stairs of the designated bus. Eventually I resolved to “let go” of any bitterness.
A young chap approached me while in line and asked if I was “The walking monk”. Finally I handed my ticket to the bus driver and this was a sure sign that, “I’m in”. I boarded the bus, breathed easy, chanted easy and made my way to 1626 Pie IX Boulevard eventually there to gain the good association of monk fellowship and devotional laypersons. It was the Sunday feast and the spirit was high. It was worth all the trouble.
4 kms.
I rolled my luggage for a good 4kms down to the bus depot in Toronto ready for a journey to Montreal. Thank God for decent sidewalks otherwise the baggage with wheels could not have survived the torture.
The experience at the bus depot at the peak of Christmas time was nothing but mayhem. Congestion, passenger line-ups were erroneously merged for Montreal and New York, extra buses pulled up to deal with the volume of people but it wasn’t enough, many of us were left waiting, public phones were not functioning with the recent conversion of the new 50 cents charge after the 25 cent hike. I was near the front of the line for the third additional bus when it was announced that now the bus is waiting in another lane. After a mad rush for all to relocate it meant now I ended up at the end of the line. Such disorder! I WAS CONSIDERING A TICKET REFUND AND WENT TO THE TICKET COUNTER. There was no empathy. Fury enflamed me but I found I had no recourse but to cool down, tolerate and drive for humility. I decided to go to the customer services counter. And a woman there lodged her personal complaints in a particularly loud voice saying “ You’re treating me like this because I’m a black woman!” Funny thing is that the person on the other side of the counter was also black. Many things made little sense.
I could not wait to ascend the stairs of the designated bus. Eventually I resolved to “let go” of any bitterness.
A young chap approached me while in line and asked if I was “The walking monk”. Finally I handed my ticket to the bus driver and this was a sure sign that, “I’m in”. I boarded the bus, breathed easy, chanted easy and made my way to 1626 Pie IX Boulevard eventually there to gain the good association of monk fellowship and devotional laypersons. It was the Sunday feast and the spirit was high. It was worth all the trouble.
4 kms.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Sat. Dec. 29/07 - Toronto, Ontario
I was impressed with the turn out of the youths at the Armenian last rites services from two days before. I felt secure knowing that in our world a younger set can generate felling and have a heart.
Not related to this event but to the participation of youth in our own community today persons from New York, North Carolina, Montreal, Edmonton and the locally-bound converged at our acoustically-fine hall on Avenue road to engage in a weekend Kirtan. It felt good.
They sang well and played well the mrdangas (drums), harmonium and hand cymbals. They relish each others company. They cook for themselves and make extra amounts of food for comers to the temple. This is the real richness of life-social interaction with a spiritual center.
I had tackled making breakfast here for two days in a row with the good Devadatta the monk. It was coming out fairly satisfactory.
On the early trek down Yonge street I noticed the news stands with captions surrounding the death of political leader, Bhutto, of Pakistan. The world is troubled and most disunited. May we take a lesson from youths at their best!
8 kms
I was impressed with the turn out of the youths at the Armenian last rites services from two days before. I felt secure knowing that in our world a younger set can generate felling and have a heart.
Not related to this event but to the participation of youth in our own community today persons from New York, North Carolina, Montreal, Edmonton and the locally-bound converged at our acoustically-fine hall on Avenue road to engage in a weekend Kirtan. It felt good.
They sang well and played well the mrdangas (drums), harmonium and hand cymbals. They relish each others company. They cook for themselves and make extra amounts of food for comers to the temple. This is the real richness of life-social interaction with a spiritual center.
I had tackled making breakfast here for two days in a row with the good Devadatta the monk. It was coming out fairly satisfactory.
On the early trek down Yonge street I noticed the news stands with captions surrounding the death of political leader, Bhutto, of Pakistan. The world is troubled and most disunited. May we take a lesson from youths at their best!
8 kms
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Thurs. Dec. 27/07 - Toronto, Ontario
My sister had married into the Armenian community. The funeral of her husband was held at St. Mary’s church on Victoria Park Avenue. The priests of this Orthodox church were kind and seated me on one of their Vyasasanas, a special seating area reserved for clergy. The service was powerful followed by the burial in a nearby cemetery. Hundreds came in their mourning black attire as all were set against pure white snow. This was a black and white film with true drama.
The dominant gesture was hugging and holding as tears ran down cheeks. Stalwart students of this heroic soccer coach could not hold back emotions what to speak of immediate family. Someone with a vile mind had knocked down this Mr. Optimism in a cowardly way with a gun to his head. In all this horror and grimness my angelic sister very much held her composure despite all the internal and utter pain. She was Mrs. Courageous.
I reminded her that the spirit is not slain. It goes on living and improving itself.
The casket lowered. The sudden death that shocked a sector of the earth leaves behind it a trial of questions- “who?’ “Why?” and “What now?”
The sacred Gita informs us that the intricacies of karma are difficult to understand.
1km.
My sister had married into the Armenian community. The funeral of her husband was held at St. Mary’s church on Victoria Park Avenue. The priests of this Orthodox church were kind and seated me on one of their Vyasasanas, a special seating area reserved for clergy. The service was powerful followed by the burial in a nearby cemetery. Hundreds came in their mourning black attire as all were set against pure white snow. This was a black and white film with true drama.
The dominant gesture was hugging and holding as tears ran down cheeks. Stalwart students of this heroic soccer coach could not hold back emotions what to speak of immediate family. Someone with a vile mind had knocked down this Mr. Optimism in a cowardly way with a gun to his head. In all this horror and grimness my angelic sister very much held her composure despite all the internal and utter pain. She was Mrs. Courageous.
I reminded her that the spirit is not slain. It goes on living and improving itself.
The casket lowered. The sudden death that shocked a sector of the earth leaves behind it a trial of questions- “who?’ “Why?” and “What now?”
The sacred Gita informs us that the intricacies of karma are difficult to understand.
1km.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Sun. Dec.23/07 - Vancouver, British Columbia
The startling news of the unjust death of a good father of two boys, husband, jeweler and soccer coach to hundreds of young men left me with an uncomfortable rest. The bight of unease drew me to walking again at a time prior to the 4:30 am temple program. I found myself entangled in the blackberry bushes, thick and thorny at Byrne Creek in Burnaby, a suburb of Vancouver. I had trailed the sidewalk from the temple to a hardwood tree path and then into prickly entanglement. This was of course deliberate.
When bereavement hits me or confusion of some sort it compels me to do just that -throw myself into a maize of nature’s circumstance. I then must labour hard to seek a new path or create one until I reach a clearness. My lips move with the maha-mantra throughout this ordeal. When I finally work my way out of the labyrinth I end up in a great consolation of hope, some resolve and mental peace. It is always a great relief to touch the initial major trail again.
In the morning sadhana at the temple I sat on the vyasa-asan, the seat for the sermon. I spoke on the subject of the the Yadu dynasty and the struggle they endured. In the evening I sat on that same vyasa-asan and offered a word to the congregation about cutting through life’s hurdles and clearing the forest of confusion.
7kms.
The startling news of the unjust death of a good father of two boys, husband, jeweler and soccer coach to hundreds of young men left me with an uncomfortable rest. The bight of unease drew me to walking again at a time prior to the 4:30 am temple program. I found myself entangled in the blackberry bushes, thick and thorny at Byrne Creek in Burnaby, a suburb of Vancouver. I had trailed the sidewalk from the temple to a hardwood tree path and then into prickly entanglement. This was of course deliberate.
When bereavement hits me or confusion of some sort it compels me to do just that -throw myself into a maize of nature’s circumstance. I then must labour hard to seek a new path or create one until I reach a clearness. My lips move with the maha-mantra throughout this ordeal. When I finally work my way out of the labyrinth I end up in a great consolation of hope, some resolve and mental peace. It is always a great relief to touch the initial major trail again.
In the morning sadhana at the temple I sat on the vyasa-asan, the seat for the sermon. I spoke on the subject of the the Yadu dynasty and the struggle they endured. In the evening I sat on that same vyasa-asan and offered a word to the congregation about cutting through life’s hurdles and clearing the forest of confusion.
7kms.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Sat. Dec.22/07 - Vancouver, British Columbia
My legs were aching to walk and spirit nudging to move. After a gratifying evening with residents of Saranagati Village conversing and chanting I had set my mind to spring to my feet at 3:45 am this morning and get an early start for Vancouver. I find when I focus strongly on a time line for rising the following morning some subconscious force pulls me up like some marionette on the strings. By 4:00am I hit the trail on Venables Valley, then right on the Trans Canada Highway (an old friend) towards Vancouver.
The air was clean. Sage bushes are stilled by the winter chill. Not much moves here in this frozen wilderness, all but for the occasional roaming coyote. Two and a half hours later Rasaraj, acting president of Saranagati Village, spotted me and stopped his four-wheel-drive for our pre-planned pick-up of myself. The drive to Vancouver was fine although snow flurries left us with ethereal white punctuations.
Rasaraja’s phone rang. It was a call and most unpleasant. One of my brother-in laws was shot and killed under some extraordinary circumstances in Toronto. My sister who is an angel of a person must be devastated. The news threw me into a period of silent sobriety as Rasaraj, passengers Dillon and I rode off along the Fraser Canyon into the lower mainland of Vancouver.
12 kms.
My legs were aching to walk and spirit nudging to move. After a gratifying evening with residents of Saranagati Village conversing and chanting I had set my mind to spring to my feet at 3:45 am this morning and get an early start for Vancouver. I find when I focus strongly on a time line for rising the following morning some subconscious force pulls me up like some marionette on the strings. By 4:00am I hit the trail on Venables Valley, then right on the Trans Canada Highway (an old friend) towards Vancouver.
The air was clean. Sage bushes are stilled by the winter chill. Not much moves here in this frozen wilderness, all but for the occasional roaming coyote. Two and a half hours later Rasaraj, acting president of Saranagati Village, spotted me and stopped his four-wheel-drive for our pre-planned pick-up of myself. The drive to Vancouver was fine although snow flurries left us with ethereal white punctuations.
Rasaraja’s phone rang. It was a call and most unpleasant. One of my brother-in laws was shot and killed under some extraordinary circumstances in Toronto. My sister who is an angel of a person must be devastated. The news threw me into a period of silent sobriety as Rasaraj, passengers Dillon and I rode off along the Fraser Canyon into the lower mainland of Vancouver.
12 kms.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Thurs. Dec.20/07 - Saranagati Villages, British Columbia
As usual when a wood chunk is fed to the fire the crackling sound and dancing flames are ear and eye pleasers. Dillon had just finished feeding the fire and being the perfect host catering to the needs of his almost shivering cold guest (me). Dillon’s cousin, Robert, had also come back from work to put his day to some closure. Both fellows admitted to a trite shyness being before a swami but I told them not to worry about a thing. “Throughout my whole life I have always been shy, that makes three if us”.
I had bused it on a five and a half hour ride from Vancouver to get to this serene location nestled in the B.C. mountains. While the boys who are in their mid-twenties prepared a simple dinner for us I was reading aloud from the Bhagavad – Gita, a chapter of the Mahabharat, in commemoration of the anniversary of when the Gita’s Holy dialogue was spoken. I came to the section where Arjuna expressed an apprehension to move forward in executing his duty to fight. Arjun was shy about it.
“Arjuna worried about the celestial weapons he would use, fearing they might somehow hurt even the soul. “ As I read on the answer was clear in regards to alleviating any such fear. No weapon whether fire, the wind, water, or a sharp-edged sword could damage the soul.
It was a full day spent for the three of us although done so in different localities. We had come together in the evening by the fire and my meeting these two young men for the first time finished on a satisfactory note hearing of such sublime words from the Gita.
7kms.
As usual when a wood chunk is fed to the fire the crackling sound and dancing flames are ear and eye pleasers. Dillon had just finished feeding the fire and being the perfect host catering to the needs of his almost shivering cold guest (me). Dillon’s cousin, Robert, had also come back from work to put his day to some closure. Both fellows admitted to a trite shyness being before a swami but I told them not to worry about a thing. “Throughout my whole life I have always been shy, that makes three if us”.
I had bused it on a five and a half hour ride from Vancouver to get to this serene location nestled in the B.C. mountains. While the boys who are in their mid-twenties prepared a simple dinner for us I was reading aloud from the Bhagavad – Gita, a chapter of the Mahabharat, in commemoration of the anniversary of when the Gita’s Holy dialogue was spoken. I came to the section where Arjuna expressed an apprehension to move forward in executing his duty to fight. Arjun was shy about it.
“Arjuna worried about the celestial weapons he would use, fearing they might somehow hurt even the soul. “ As I read on the answer was clear in regards to alleviating any such fear. No weapon whether fire, the wind, water, or a sharp-edged sword could damage the soul.
It was a full day spent for the three of us although done so in different localities. We had come together in the evening by the fire and my meeting these two young men for the first time finished on a satisfactory note hearing of such sublime words from the Gita.
7kms.
Wednesday, 6 February 2008
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Sun. Dec.16/07 - Toronto, Ontario
Even though weather was restricting with a major snow storm warning last night a fair attendance made it to Meadowvale Theatre for the dramatical presentation of “Rolling the Dice”. You might say it was a gamble challenging the storm but will find brave people. I have always found extreme climatic calamity to be a humbling experience. Fatalities do hit us though. Police reported no less than six hundred car accidents in the area for Saturday night, and that is certainly unfortunate.
“Rolling the Dice”, was a catchy phrase that we used to utter to the nuance of unhealthy activity. There are usually calamitous results that arise from high stakes involved with the current casino craze. This story, an ancient one, is an excerpt from the epic “Mahabharat” and it does discourage such games of chance. In ancient India, Ksatriyas, warriors, were known to gamble as well as hunt, drink, and womanize. The more virtuous warriors kept such activities to a minimum level. Such was the nature of the Pandava clan who were obliged by invitation from their blind emperor and uncle to participate in what became a rigged game.
There is a world apart between lifestyles of monks and warriors and I, a modern-day monk, assumed the role of the blind Dhritarastra for this drama. I know that many of my acquaintances found a delight in watching their swami dressed in a fancy turban and Kingly garb and playing out a passionate role. Shammy Sohal as Duryodhana, Praveen Bakshi as Vidura and others did a splendid job with their parts. Feedback told me that the message was clear. Gambling is bad news.
Such reflections on the previous night’s performance struck me while trudging through deep snow. My walking partner, Jagannatha, a monk from Miami, was noticing the joyful play people put themselves into amidst the white fluff. It sure beats gambling.
2kms.
Even though weather was restricting with a major snow storm warning last night a fair attendance made it to Meadowvale Theatre for the dramatical presentation of “Rolling the Dice”. You might say it was a gamble challenging the storm but will find brave people. I have always found extreme climatic calamity to be a humbling experience. Fatalities do hit us though. Police reported no less than six hundred car accidents in the area for Saturday night, and that is certainly unfortunate.
“Rolling the Dice”, was a catchy phrase that we used to utter to the nuance of unhealthy activity. There are usually calamitous results that arise from high stakes involved with the current casino craze. This story, an ancient one, is an excerpt from the epic “Mahabharat” and it does discourage such games of chance. In ancient India, Ksatriyas, warriors, were known to gamble as well as hunt, drink, and womanize. The more virtuous warriors kept such activities to a minimum level. Such was the nature of the Pandava clan who were obliged by invitation from their blind emperor and uncle to participate in what became a rigged game.
There is a world apart between lifestyles of monks and warriors and I, a modern-day monk, assumed the role of the blind Dhritarastra for this drama. I know that many of my acquaintances found a delight in watching their swami dressed in a fancy turban and Kingly garb and playing out a passionate role. Shammy Sohal as Duryodhana, Praveen Bakshi as Vidura and others did a splendid job with their parts. Feedback told me that the message was clear. Gambling is bad news.
Such reflections on the previous night’s performance struck me while trudging through deep snow. My walking partner, Jagannatha, a monk from Miami, was noticing the joyful play people put themselves into amidst the white fluff. It sure beats gambling.
2kms.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Tuesday, Dec.11/07 - Toronto, Ont.
Over the past few days there have been several visits to homes of congregational members that has kept the stomach content.
A satsang is a program designed for giving and gaining good association., speaking on spiritual topics, conducting some chanting with refreshments to cap off the program. These refreshments are usually very hefty and a swami is advised to bring an entourage to help share in the honoring of delcicious food. Satsang programs are usually held at the home of someone who invites family and friends to participate. The living room or basement facility becomes occupied with people while the kitchen is equally busy. Several years ago the United Church of Canada’s national magazine “The Observer” described a satsang quoting me as a transcendental Tupperware party. Seriously though, they are an enriching experience. When people sometimes ask what has happened to the Hare Krishna’s (“We used to see you at airports or on the streets.”) I can frankly answer that satsangs are one of the vents that keeps us busy these days.
For me the real “juice” of the event is in the chanting and the speaking. The food (prasadam) is a bonus.
Out of the house and into the zone of good clean air, one monk, one nun and I strolled (and slid) through Moore Park ravine. Now white haven, the snow laden tight valley offers an ideal peaceful setting for chanting on beads and accumulating kilometers for good health and mind. But serenity broke when one of us packed a snowball and fired it at another. I cannot exactly recall how the snow warfare broke out but all I can say is that becoming a child for a few minutes is as relieving as a good foot massage.
6 kms.
Over the past few days there have been several visits to homes of congregational members that has kept the stomach content.
A satsang is a program designed for giving and gaining good association., speaking on spiritual topics, conducting some chanting with refreshments to cap off the program. These refreshments are usually very hefty and a swami is advised to bring an entourage to help share in the honoring of delcicious food. Satsang programs are usually held at the home of someone who invites family and friends to participate. The living room or basement facility becomes occupied with people while the kitchen is equally busy. Several years ago the United Church of Canada’s national magazine “The Observer” described a satsang quoting me as a transcendental Tupperware party. Seriously though, they are an enriching experience. When people sometimes ask what has happened to the Hare Krishna’s (“We used to see you at airports or on the streets.”) I can frankly answer that satsangs are one of the vents that keeps us busy these days.
For me the real “juice” of the event is in the chanting and the speaking. The food (prasadam) is a bonus.
Out of the house and into the zone of good clean air, one monk, one nun and I strolled (and slid) through Moore Park ravine. Now white haven, the snow laden tight valley offers an ideal peaceful setting for chanting on beads and accumulating kilometers for good health and mind. But serenity broke when one of us packed a snowball and fired it at another. I cannot exactly recall how the snow warfare broke out but all I can say is that becoming a child for a few minutes is as relieving as a good foot massage.
6 kms.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Thurs. Dec.6/07 - Newmarket, Ontario
Today was a revisitation to the studios at Asian Television Network. From 1990-96 I co-hosted a regular TV series called, “On the Way to Krishna” produced by ATN for Vision television Network, a religious-based network broadcast throughout Canada and the U.S. At that time “On the way to Krishna” was the longest running TV show on Hinduism in TV history according to ATN’s founder Shan Chandrashekar.
Though this is a proud achievement I sometimes find the term “Hindu” somewhat objectionable. Theologians place devotion to Krishna in the category of Hinduism but let it be known that the name is a misnomer. It is a term imposed upon those of us who adhere to the culture of the Vedas.
I once asked a Mr. Adwani, a foremost political leader of the pro-Hindu Bharatiya Janatiparty, if he and his following would consider a term other than “Hindu”, a label that invaders into India imposed centuries ago when the Sindhu River was pronounced with a linguistics “H” instead of “S”. Mr. Adwani declined to say whether the term will be dropped anytime soon.
I suggested that Sanatana or Sanatana Dharma could be possible terms used to refer to persons who follow the Vedas. He sugegested that “Hindu” was likely to stay although he expressed empathy for the change. After all, the word Eskimo has been dropped for the word Inuit, the chosen word to describe indigenous people of the North. ISKCON has spelled out and addressed this apparent identity crisis to read something like members of the Hare Krishna movement (ISKCON) are a bhakti movement devoted to Krishna which is found in mainstream Hinduism.
I actually had an appointment at ATN studio for a half-hour interview with host Reena Chandarana, to speak about Krishna devotionalism in the context of my own experience, of how I became a monk and why the pilgrimage walking. The interview, to be edited for broadcast next week, culminated in describing the upcoming drama in which I play King Dhrtarastra, the blind emperor of the Kuru Dynasty. The venue is Meadowvale Theatre on Saturday, Dec. 15th at 6 pm in Mississauga, Ontario.
It was a fun interview especially when Reena wanted me to describe life on the farm as a boy and how our animals would naturally end up disappearing one by one which led to my current vegetarian lifestyle.
Today was a revisitation to the studios at Asian Television Network. From 1990-96 I co-hosted a regular TV series called, “On the Way to Krishna” produced by ATN for Vision television Network, a religious-based network broadcast throughout Canada and the U.S. At that time “On the way to Krishna” was the longest running TV show on Hinduism in TV history according to ATN’s founder Shan Chandrashekar.
Though this is a proud achievement I sometimes find the term “Hindu” somewhat objectionable. Theologians place devotion to Krishna in the category of Hinduism but let it be known that the name is a misnomer. It is a term imposed upon those of us who adhere to the culture of the Vedas.
I once asked a Mr. Adwani, a foremost political leader of the pro-Hindu Bharatiya Janatiparty, if he and his following would consider a term other than “Hindu”, a label that invaders into India imposed centuries ago when the Sindhu River was pronounced with a linguistics “H” instead of “S”. Mr. Adwani declined to say whether the term will be dropped anytime soon.
I suggested that Sanatana or Sanatana Dharma could be possible terms used to refer to persons who follow the Vedas. He sugegested that “Hindu” was likely to stay although he expressed empathy for the change. After all, the word Eskimo has been dropped for the word Inuit, the chosen word to describe indigenous people of the North. ISKCON has spelled out and addressed this apparent identity crisis to read something like members of the Hare Krishna movement (ISKCON) are a bhakti movement devoted to Krishna which is found in mainstream Hinduism.
I actually had an appointment at ATN studio for a half-hour interview with host Reena Chandarana, to speak about Krishna devotionalism in the context of my own experience, of how I became a monk and why the pilgrimage walking. The interview, to be edited for broadcast next week, culminated in describing the upcoming drama in which I play King Dhrtarastra, the blind emperor of the Kuru Dynasty. The venue is Meadowvale Theatre on Saturday, Dec. 15th at 6 pm in Mississauga, Ontario.
It was a fun interview especially when Reena wanted me to describe life on the farm as a boy and how our animals would naturally end up disappearing one by one which led to my current vegetarian lifestyle.
6kms.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Thurs. Nov.22/ 2007 - Towaco, New Jersey
Today is America's Thanksgiving Day and I happened to be on the east coast where that first glorious event took place almost four hundred years ago celebrating good cheer between the pilgrims of England and the natives of the U.S. I ventured for a solo walk near the Iskcon Centre of New Jersey amidst a rural festival of still autumn golds, reds and oranges. Squirrels scommered about making noise about their ever delicate step from laden leaves rubbing and rustling. Many homes along this hilly bound region have more than their own vehicles stationed in their own driveways. Visitors have come for planned family reunions. Sometimes the distinctive scent of maple and oak leaves is interrupted by air currents of turkey gravy. "For vegetarians 'tofurkey' is an option," explained Jennifer who earlier in the day described the craft of a designed big bird made of tofu. A nearby Buddhist restaurant offers the entré.
For a monk who bid farewell to the consumption of fowl, fish, and meat 35 years ago, any resemblance of a dead animal has no appeal even if seasoned well. I am content to enjoy the curried vegetable, fine buttered chappatis and steamed broccoli which was all offered to Krishna. I ate such a meal today with a thankful relish. I wish more folks would consider the good option.
As far as family, giving thanks and all that good stuff is concerned, one of my reasons for the trip here is to engage youth in a drama performance "The Coming of Ram". A major theme is children. It gives me a chance to be close to them, to remember what I once was and still might become should I go through a future life again.
Today is America's Thanksgiving Day and I happened to be on the east coast where that first glorious event took place almost four hundred years ago celebrating good cheer between the pilgrims of England and the natives of the U.S. I ventured for a solo walk near the Iskcon Centre of New Jersey amidst a rural festival of still autumn golds, reds and oranges. Squirrels scommered about making noise about their ever delicate step from laden leaves rubbing and rustling. Many homes along this hilly bound region have more than their own vehicles stationed in their own driveways. Visitors have come for planned family reunions. Sometimes the distinctive scent of maple and oak leaves is interrupted by air currents of turkey gravy. "For vegetarians 'tofurkey' is an option," explained Jennifer who earlier in the day described the craft of a designed big bird made of tofu. A nearby Buddhist restaurant offers the entré.
For a monk who bid farewell to the consumption of fowl, fish, and meat 35 years ago, any resemblance of a dead animal has no appeal even if seasoned well. I am content to enjoy the curried vegetable, fine buttered chappatis and steamed broccoli which was all offered to Krishna. I ate such a meal today with a thankful relish. I wish more folks would consider the good option.
As far as family, giving thanks and all that good stuff is concerned, one of my reasons for the trip here is to engage youth in a drama performance "The Coming of Ram". A major theme is children. It gives me a chance to be close to them, to remember what I once was and still might become should I go through a future life again.
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