By Satyaraja dasa (Steven J. Rosen)
What compels people to shave their heads, don robes, and spend their lives chanting the names of God?
Ever wonder why people become Hare Krishnas? Why do they give up all that they know and love and engage in a complete about-face? And it’s not just the Hare Krishna tradition, more technically known as Gaudiya Vaishnavism -- why do people become monks, or nuns, or cloistered ascetics of any stripe? What is it that seems to take people over, to make them change, or transform -- to search after God as if nothing else matters?
The ancient Greeks called it metanoia, which literally means “beyond thought.” It refers to that “turning around” in one’s consciousness, that “inner turnabout” that is required if one is to embrace the spiritual quest with any seriousness. In Sanskrit, too, we have a word: paravritti, which means “reversal.” Or janatagha-viplavah - “a revolution in consciousness.” Again, it refers to that upheaval in thinking that enables us to give up conventional life and to go for it -- I mean, really go for it -- where we set aside everything we once knew in favor of the Absolute Truth. When the teachings of the sages touch us on a deep level, or if our spiritual evolution is at a stage when we can no longer ignore it -- we must apply the teachings as if our lives depended on it. This is spiritual life.
Before that point, we are like villagers living in a small valley, right at the foot of a huge mountain. Having spent generations in this valley -- our fathers lived there, as did our fathers’ fathers -- we have forgotten the larger world that lies beyond our familiar surroundings. Our daily concerns, worries, and deeply embedded patterns of life have all but blinded us to the summit in our midst, even if our eyes sometimes fall upon the majestic peak just outside our village.
Sometimes we hear stories of others who have scaled the mountain, but we scarcely believe it can be done. Indeed, life is too short, and we have other things to do. Who has the time? Still, occasionally, the trials and tribulations of life make us look up and wonder: Is there more to life than this? Is this mountain perhaps more approachable than I thought? Is it worth scaling? Would I lose all that I cherish if I get sidetracked with this impossible mission? Is there a way back?
We see as we continue asking such questions how they become more pragmatic, as if deep down we want to forget the entire notion of ever really scaling the mountain.
Sometimes a crisis in life makes us forget these all-too-practical questions -- and we do in fact embark on the journey. And sometimes we’re just ready to go.
But most of us continue to live in the shadows of our valley, in the light and dark of the material world. We learn from the sages that this spiritual ignorance (avidya) is the root cause of all suffering -- of birth, death, old age, and disease. This ignorance crystallizes in false vision (mithya-drishti) -- we take the body as the self and our valley as all that is. This creates false ego (ahankara), and with it a succession of lives, bound together by all our actions, our karma,
Gradually, with the vicissitudes of time, we come to learn from our cumulative mistakes, and the great teachers in history put out hints in the ether -- teachings for those of us who want to start the long journey up the mountain. As time goes on, we develop a taste for “the correct view” -- for reality as opposed to illusion.
Still, we falter. Generations of illusion have brought us to a point of familiarity. Our plight became comfortable, and the journey, as a result, arduous. The valley is all we know.
Even once we truly commit to a path, we remain on a tottering platform -- the mind is always accepting and rejecting, causing us to be unsteady in our determination. Our emotions and inner reality do not live up to our insights -- we know what we have to do, but we don’t feel like doing it. Therefore, we practice self-restraint (virati), for the sages tell us that we must re-train ourselves.
Once we do this with some regularity, we have entered spiritual life proper. We develop a taste for letting go of material distractions, and for embracing those things that bring us closer to God. Through simple spiritual exercises -- like chanting and refraining from sinful activity -- we gradually overcome the binding force of our familiar home, and we become free from anger, pride, delusion, and greed.
This leads to our greatest challenge -- how focused is our meditation? Our minds are flickering, as already stated, and though we have come a long way, the mind’s flickering nature is difficult to overcome. The oscillating attention span of a spiritual neophyte can be a great obstacle (pramatta-samyata), powered by karmic deposits that we have all but forgotten. Inattention while chanting and compromising our spiritual discipline prove that we have yet a long way to go.
But with time, practice, and the grace of a bona fide teacher, one can make steady progress, until one is a spiritual adept. Transcendence awaits us, and our small valley appears smaller still. We wonder how we ever called it home, as we scale the mountain we were destined to climb.
In conclusion, we will never even admit to the great mount’s existence if we don’t want to look up, if we don't want to see the beautiful vista that is our birthright. Usually, it is fear that stops our gaze. We don’t want to lose all the things that hold meaning for us in the here and now. Also, the mountain seems daunting. Let’s face it -- who wants to leave their comfortable home for a seemingly endless trek up a formidable and rocky terrain? And yet there it is, staring us in the face.
So, why do people become Hare Krishnas? Take a quick glance, deep inside, and consider the possibilities. The trip is exciting and it is one that great souls have made throughout recorded history. Let us not blind ourselves to that. When we study their lives and teachings, we become more inclined to the journey -- we see that our tiny valley pales in comparison. And that at the mountain’s peak is Krishna, God -- whatever one prefers to call Him -- and that we have found our true home.
Ever wonder why people become Hare Krishnas? Why do they give up all that they know and love and engage in a complete about-face? And it’s not just the Hare Krishna tradition, more technically known as Gaudiya Vaishnavism -- why do people become monks, or nuns, or cloistered ascetics of any stripe? What is it that seems to take people over, to make them change, or transform -- to search after God as if nothing else matters?
The ancient Greeks called it metanoia, which literally means “beyond thought.” It refers to that “turning around” in one’s consciousness, that “inner turnabout” that is required if one is to embrace the spiritual quest with any seriousness. In Sanskrit, too, we have a word: paravritti, which means “reversal.” Or janatagha-viplavah - “a revolution in consciousness.” Again, it refers to that upheaval in thinking that enables us to give up conventional life and to go for it -- I mean, really go for it -- where we set aside everything we once knew in favor of the Absolute Truth. When the teachings of the sages touch us on a deep level, or if our spiritual evolution is at a stage when we can no longer ignore it -- we must apply the teachings as if our lives depended on it. This is spiritual life.
Before that point, we are like villagers living in a small valley, right at the foot of a huge mountain. Having spent generations in this valley -- our fathers lived there, as did our fathers’ fathers -- we have forgotten the larger world that lies beyond our familiar surroundings. Our daily concerns, worries, and deeply embedded patterns of life have all but blinded us to the summit in our midst, even if our eyes sometimes fall upon the majestic peak just outside our village.
Sometimes we hear stories of others who have scaled the mountain, but we scarcely believe it can be done. Indeed, life is too short, and we have other things to do. Who has the time? Still, occasionally, the trials and tribulations of life make us look up and wonder: Is there more to life than this? Is this mountain perhaps more approachable than I thought? Is it worth scaling? Would I lose all that I cherish if I get sidetracked with this impossible mission? Is there a way back?
We see as we continue asking such questions how they become more pragmatic, as if deep down we want to forget the entire notion of ever really scaling the mountain.
Sometimes a crisis in life makes us forget these all-too-practical questions -- and we do in fact embark on the journey. And sometimes we’re just ready to go.
But most of us continue to live in the shadows of our valley, in the light and dark of the material world. We learn from the sages that this spiritual ignorance (avidya) is the root cause of all suffering -- of birth, death, old age, and disease. This ignorance crystallizes in false vision (mithya-drishti) -- we take the body as the self and our valley as all that is. This creates false ego (ahankara), and with it a succession of lives, bound together by all our actions, our karma,
Gradually, with the vicissitudes of time, we come to learn from our cumulative mistakes, and the great teachers in history put out hints in the ether -- teachings for those of us who want to start the long journey up the mountain. As time goes on, we develop a taste for “the correct view” -- for reality as opposed to illusion.
Still, we falter. Generations of illusion have brought us to a point of familiarity. Our plight became comfortable, and the journey, as a result, arduous. The valley is all we know.
Even once we truly commit to a path, we remain on a tottering platform -- the mind is always accepting and rejecting, causing us to be unsteady in our determination. Our emotions and inner reality do not live up to our insights -- we know what we have to do, but we don’t feel like doing it. Therefore, we practice self-restraint (virati), for the sages tell us that we must re-train ourselves.
Once we do this with some regularity, we have entered spiritual life proper. We develop a taste for letting go of material distractions, and for embracing those things that bring us closer to God. Through simple spiritual exercises -- like chanting and refraining from sinful activity -- we gradually overcome the binding force of our familiar home, and we become free from anger, pride, delusion, and greed.
This leads to our greatest challenge -- how focused is our meditation? Our minds are flickering, as already stated, and though we have come a long way, the mind’s flickering nature is difficult to overcome. The oscillating attention span of a spiritual neophyte can be a great obstacle (pramatta-samyata), powered by karmic deposits that we have all but forgotten. Inattention while chanting and compromising our spiritual discipline prove that we have yet a long way to go.
But with time, practice, and the grace of a bona fide teacher, one can make steady progress, until one is a spiritual adept. Transcendence awaits us, and our small valley appears smaller still. We wonder how we ever called it home, as we scale the mountain we were destined to climb.
In conclusion, we will never even admit to the great mount’s existence if we don’t want to look up, if we don't want to see the beautiful vista that is our birthright. Usually, it is fear that stops our gaze. We don’t want to lose all the things that hold meaning for us in the here and now. Also, the mountain seems daunting. Let’s face it -- who wants to leave their comfortable home for a seemingly endless trek up a formidable and rocky terrain? And yet there it is, staring us in the face.
So, why do people become Hare Krishnas? Take a quick glance, deep inside, and consider the possibilities. The trip is exciting and it is one that great souls have made throughout recorded history. Let us not blind ourselves to that. When we study their lives and teachings, we become more inclined to the journey -- we see that our tiny valley pales in comparison. And that at the mountain’s peak is Krishna, God -- whatever one prefers to call Him -- and that we have found our true home.
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