Ядунандана Прабху приймет санньясу

2009/02/26

Слева направо: Сатсварупа Махараджа, Джайадвата Махараджа, Гунаграхи Махараджа, Шастра Прабху, (низвесный брахмачари), Ядунандана Прабху (с мешочком), Дханурдара Свами и Прахлада Прия Прабху — Джанмастами 2008 года, Деллавэр.

Мы знали это немного зарание, поскольку Гуру Махараджа. Шрила Сатсварупа Даса Госвами вдохновил и благословил Ядунандану Праху на санньясу. Он также попросил своего первого ученика санньяси, Джайадвайту Махараджа официировать на церимонии инициации на что махарадж согласился. В феврале во Вриндаване. Баладева и Бхагават Пурана сняли размеры с данды Прахладананды Свами в моей комнате и заказали чехол для данды Ядунанданы, нашего брата в Боге. Ядунандана прабху многие годы служит в ИСККОНе и пропроведует в Европе, особенно в Испании откуда он сам родом. Он является начальником Бхактиведанта Колледжа в Радхадеше и найштика брахмачари; он пришел в ИСККОН еще ребенком. Его Святейшество Джайадвата Свами даст санньясу Ядунандане прабху в Радхадеше на благоприяную годовщину Гаура пурнимы, буквально через несколько дней. Другие санньяс-ученики Гуру Махараджа будут присутсвовать, включая Прахладананду Свами и также ученик Джайадваты Свами, Кадамба Канана Свами. Все они будут давать лекцию по Бхагаватам в этот особый праздничный день. В программе, огненное жертвоприношение, абхищека Гаура-Нитай, маха-харинама, театр, церемония вручения подарков, бхаджаны, киртан и конечно-же пир.

Из дневников Сатсварупы даса Госвами—выдержки о Ядунандане когда он служил месяц Гуру Махараджу в качестве замены личного слуги, Баладевы Видьябхушаны, в июле 2008:

Июль 12, 11:28 утра

Ядунандана изучает атеистическую философию самкхуи. Он говорит что историки не упомянывают то что был не-настоящий Капила. Но Прахупада говорил что был этот атеист Капила который пришел после Капилы, сына Девахути который учил теистическую самкхую в Шримад Бхагаватам. Когда общаешься слишком много с академиками Индологами, то лего сбиться с толку. Главная дипломная работа Ядунанданы посвещена «санньяса в Исккон». Он планирует проводить интервью с раличными санньяси ИСККОН. Шрила Прабхупада продчеркивал что санньяса предназначена для проповеди. Когда он дал мне данду с вьясасаны в Нью-Двараке он сказал «Проповедуй! Проповедуй! Проповедуй!»

Июль 9. 11:17 утра

Я с Ядунанданой пошли на прогулку этим утром а затем присели на креслах в тени небольшого дерева. Мы повторяли джапу покуда мне не нужно было срочно в туалет и тогда мы быстро вернулись обратно в дом, как раз вовремя. Он заметил рабочего на лужайки, очевидно латиноамериканца, и сказал ему — “buenos dias”. Тот улюбнулся и ответил “buenos dias.” Яду сказал что это хороший район. Мы не очень много разговариваем среди дня, но он готовит и читает сам и пишет. Я предпочитаю джапу наедине и слышать свой собственный голос, без безпокойств чужих вибраций. Я повторяю шопотом или тихим ясным голосом. Легко повторять двадцать четыре круга. —


Солнечное затмение — с Бхуриджаном Прабху

2009/02/23


Поговорил с Бхуриджаном Прабху по телефону. Зказал что заболел. Он мне рассказал о своем расписании лекций которые он дает.  Так мы и не смогли договорится о времени встречи. Он сказал что могли бы встретиться на обеде. Но я сказал что ем только расплющенный рис, йогурт без сахара и бананы. «И это все?» — он спросил. Подконец мы решили подождать когда я поправлюсь, и тогда позвоню опять Он мне сказал что сегодня солнечное затмение. В день затмения, он сказал, не стоит серьезно рассматривать мысли что приходят в голову . Это поставило вопрос над моими дилеммами о том как по-раньше уехать из Вриндавана. Может это просто мысли в гуще болезни и мне не стоит их серьезно воспринимать? Так или иначе я жду не дождусь нашей встречи — без сомнения это будет подъемом.

Рис, йогурт и бананы - Бала читает Говинда-лиламриту

Рис, йогурт и бананы - Бала читает Говинда-лиламриту

Из дневника во Вриндаване 11:30 A.M.

 

 

Записки из Вриндавана 2009, 26 Января

11:30 A.M. Part 2 Vrndavana Journal 2009

выборка из заметок Сатсварупы даса Госвами


Преданность Радхарани — даже на Западе

2009/02/22

Как  предаться Радхарани на Западе? Да это возможно. Обрати себя к Радхйа-гопи. Верь в то что Она стоит рядом с Кришной и побуждает те настроения которые обвораживают Его. И гуру явлется Её представителем. Она между тобой и Кришной и просит Его за тебя, если ты правильно и для ради Кришны молишься. Она поможет тебе прийти к Нему. Она не смотрит на тебя как на соперника, напротив, как на начинающего помощника в Её любви к Нему. Ты хочешь порадовать Её, потому что это радует Его. (Конечно же у Радхарани есть собственные преданные, у кого на уме нет ничего кроме ее удовлетворения, и никакого другого стремления у них нет).  Можешь ли ты отчаиться и поклоняться ей? А как же поклонение Гаура-Нитай? Да. не стоит перескакивать через Гаура-Нитай. Но обращаясь непосредсвенно к Радха Кришне является естественным влечение преданных.  Преданные Гауры поклоняются Радхе и Кришне. Они благоговейно хранят Божества Божественной Пары и воспевают Их святые имена.

Радха Кришна - новые божества Сатсварупы даса Госвами

Радха Кришна - новые божества Сатсварупы даса Госвами

Записки из Вриндавана 2009, 16 Февраля

7:00 A.M. Part 18 Vrndavana Journal 2009

выборка из заметок Сатсварупы даса Госвами


Прибытие во Вриндаван

2009/02/19

Введение

И Нектар Преданности конечно же рекомендует Вриндаван. Даже если кто просто думает о Вриндаване — это хорошо!

  • Human at Best (2008) страница 204

23 Января 2009

Вышел на прогулку на крышу. Обезьяны на соседней крыше. Попугаи. Хорошая прогулка. Завтра выйдем и пройдемся до Гошалы. Шримате даси здесь. Она сказала что готовить прасад на может но хотела бы убирать у меня в ванной. Нет планов давать лекции. Читаю книгу Бхактивиноды Тхакура «Нам Бхаджан«. Просто замечательный памфлет, прославляет святые имена. Сегодня вечером собираемся на Лой Базар выбирать одежды Божествам. Попрошу Баладеву почитать из Говинда Лиламриты. Очень вдохновляет. Кришна с коровами а потом он отправляется на завтак. Оба Радха и Кришна прокрались в родительские дома после целей ночи друг с другом, их родители и Абхиманью не знали об этом.

http://www.sdgonline.org/vraja_journal/vrindavana_1.html

На крыше


A Reminiscence of Satsvarūpa dāsa Goswāmī — #2

2008/03/01

sdg-d94a_newsty.jpgThe following is a reminiscence of Satsvarupa dasa Goswami’s time in the U.S. Navy:

The first port we reached was Cannes, the famous beach of the French Riviera. I walked past the bars and went straight for that bookstore. I looked from outside. Genet was missing, and all the Henry Millers. I walked inside. “Where are the Henry Millers and The Thief’s Journal in English?”

“They are all sold out. We will get a new shipment in a day or two.”

“Our ship is only staying here three days.”

He shrugged his shoulders. I looked around for other titles. Celine was still here. Death on the Installment Plan and Journey to the End of the Night. I grabbed them fast before anyone else could get them.

“You’re sure you don’t have a single Thief’s Journal, by Genet? Even a used copy. I’ll pay you double.”

He wrinkled his brow as if searching for one in the cellar or attic or a friends apartment. “No, I don’t think so. But I will look. Come back tomorrow if you can. The new order may arrive.”

I left, satisfied with Celine’s thick books. There might not be much variety here, but plenty of TNT. And what was I looking for? Filth? Evil? I had already concluded that too much physical sex or evil in a book is not great writing. But I wanted to investigate deep pits where explorers had gone, writers, minds. It would help me in the Lower East Side. And to get through the last stretch of active ship time, which was growing more unbearable. I went back early to the ship that night, got into my bunk and started reading Journey to the End of the Night.

While I was reading this book on the Saratoga, there was a big black sailor who occupied a bunk about five rows down from mine. He used to always play black gospel music. When we were on the U.S. coast and were near enough to shore, he would pick it up on the radio. But when we were in the ocean, he had a phonograph like mine, and he would play his sizable collection of gospel music. He had Mahalia Jackson and plenty of variety in his collection, like Blind Willie Johnson and small bands of the ‘19’s and ‘20’s right up to the modern days. But he always favored the all-time favorites, which exclusively came from the gospel, without any rock and roll lyrics.

Big Harold never played ordinary blues but strictly spiritual gospel music. At first I had no particular interest in it as I passed his bunk, and I had never listened to it before except when passing it on the radio dial. But hearing and hearing it, I began to like the catchy music and eventually caught on to the lyrics.


A Reminiscence from Childhood of Satsvarūpa dāsa Goswāmī

2008/03/01

sdg_mexico_sm_newsty.jpgThe following is a reminiscence of Satsvarupa dasa Goswami from his childhood:

They were celebrating my second birthday, December 7, 1941, when the Japanese air force bombed Peal Harbor. The party was interrupted by the radio, and we stopped eating cake and took off our party hats. The U.S.A. entered the war. Daddy went to war as a sailor on a ship. Mommy and we two kids had to live alone on the second floor flat at Atlantic Avenue and 76th Street, in Queens. Daddy said he would come back after the war. A poster on the corner of Hitler and Tojo and Mussolini in caricature—like demons. “Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition and we’ll all be free.” A photo of me in the baby pen, beautiful white hair. My grandfather holding me up in his strong arms and white shirt. He also has white hair. He came from Naples and speaks Italian. We never saw our grandmother. We are Americans. My father in a sailor suit. My mother in a bathing suit, flat chested, the women were called flappers, that’s a 1920s picture, when she met my dad. Off to war. War bonds. Life at home the same, even without father, it’s not so different for us kids. We still have clothes and food.

My first memory: I learn to dress myself. I hid in my room and by myself I put on my short pants and was just about to put on my shirt when my mother walked in and caught me in the secret act. I burst out crying and threw myself on the bed. “What’s wrong?” “I was trying to dress myself by myself and you ruined it!” My mother said it was not ruined but it was good. Now I could dress by myself. But I thought it was ruined—my plan to come before them and surprise them. My sister teased me in front of them.

Seventy-sixth Street was a long block of row houses. Atlantic Avenue was a broad boulevard of speeding cars, so all the other avenues—75, 76, 77—branched off them and were the places of residents of the neighborhoods.

Seventy-sixth Street was our turf. We didn’t go to 77th St. or 75th St. You would be recognized as a stranger and maybe kids, even little kids of our same age, would challenge us in some way, shoot pea shooters at us, or you might get into a fight. These were somewhat rough neighborhoods. They were mixed. There were no black races. There were Italians, like us. The Puerto Rican immigration hadn’t started yet, so it was lower-middle-class workers, some of them with ordinary American names like Adams and Hall, all lower-middle-class workers.

The streets were noisy, and the kids tended to be rowdy. The buildings were four stories high, and there would always be children playing in the street, making noise. Noise came out of the apartments, too, adults shouting. There weren’t many trees along the avenue, but curbs and macadam and sidewalk. Kids of all ages would play after school. Very little kids would be pushed around by their mothers in their perambulators, older kids would be playing games on their own. They played all kinds of games like throwing balls against stoops, playing stickball, where you threw a ball against a stoop and hit it, and a game called “War,” where chalk circles were made on the sidewalk, and inside, the name of a country was chalked, like Japan, U.S.A., England, etc. A boy or girl would then take a pink Spalding rubber ball and throw it down as hard as he could on a designated country and yell out, “I declare war on—Japan!,” and then throw the ball down as hard as they could into the circle. The ball would bounce high into the air, and the boy or girl who was previously designated to be “Japan” would have to run after the ball and catch it wherever it bounced. And then when they got it, it would be their turn to declare war on the others, and so it was, they ran around and around all day declaring war, just like the actual wars that were raging on in the real world.

We also played a game called Ringaleevio, a glorified version of hide-and-seek.

I never provoked any fights. I was a short, skinny kid. But somehow once my father sent boxing gloves home from the Pacific, and so I had these two pairs of boxing gloves. The other kids said I should engage in a boxing match with someone in the neighborhood. I went along with it and put on the boxing gloves and a pair of bathing shorts and a bathrobe. Another boy my size was picked to go outside by his house, and we would have a boxing fight of a number of rounds. I came out of our house and was cheered by some of the children, and we went over to the other boy’s house, and they cheered and waited for him to come out. It was really quite a bit of acting. We were acting like a big-event fight was to take place. I must have been in complete illusion, acting as if I was a fighter. I was mostly enamored by the color of the gloves and the fact that my father had sent them all the way from the Pacific, wanting me to put them on and fight. And lo and behold, the other boy did not come out of his house. I was declared winner and no one else came, so I ran home as the champion. I went back into the house and with great relief put the gloves away.

On another occasion, however, I could not avoid a fight. Some of the teenagers were hanging around way down at the end of 76th St. To amuse themselves, they asked two very little kids, namely myself and another kid, to have a fight. We were tiny kids, only about three years old. They were like lords and we were to be like some slaves or jesters and have a fight in front of them. We did not want to fight, and we told them so.

“You must fight,” they said, “or we’ll make you fight!” We were just like the scum of the earth and they wanted us to grovel in the dust before them, and so we had to do it. They called us out before them while they sat on the upper steps of the house, and other children gathered around. And yet, by their tyranny and insistence, they pushed us together and told us, “You must fight!” And so out of terror and complete subjugation we two little boys threw ourselves at each other and began to wrestle, mostly out of terrific fear. I fought with all my strength, and the other boy did also. We grabbed at the neck and the shoulders and tried different holds and tried to knock the other boy to the ground. We punched, pulled at ears, rolled around and around on the ground, and did anything we could, although we did not know any bona fide wrestling holds. We pinched and screamed and scratched. We did not want to lose in front of the other boys, who pressed closer and closer to see which of the two little creeping cowards would win. I exerted all my will power. It wasn’t so much muscle but fear and desire, and finally, after various scuffling and holdings, I pushed the other boy to the ground. We rolled on the ground and the children cheered to see the action and the suffering as our heads were getting knocked and bruised. Finally, I pinned the other boy down and he said, “I give up.”

“You win!” said one of the lords of the gang. I got up, full of scratches and fear, and ran away from the pack, all the way back to the end of the street to my mother, feeling more like a loser if anything, rather than a winner. But the fact is, I had been forced into a fight, and I had won.


India Journal 2008 #2

2008/02/23

by Satsvarupa dasa Goswami

JANUARY 17, 2008
I had an afternoon talk with Radhanatha Swami. Radhanatha Maharaja said it’s not such a black and white thing that I have lost my reputation, but that it has changed. I’m no longer the spotless sannyasi, but I’m still a loved one, at least to my friends and disciples and to many people, with just as much love as before. He was very kind to me. He attended a meeting of ISKCON Indian managers and spoke up strongly in my favor. The managers are protesting the GBC’s closure of my case. But he thinks it may quiet down.
He also told me about the incredible pain Syamasundara Prabhu went through, and the final miraculous cure of his liver transplant.

Last night, a hundred and fifty or two hundred congregational members gathered to hear me in the big hall. I told them I was known mostly in Chowpatty from my books, and so I would read from my books tonight. I mixed in readings with memories. I told the story of how I was anxious about going to work one morning at the welfare office because there was a strike on, and I had to pass through the picket lines. But on my walk down Second Avenue to the office building, I met Swamiji and his servant on their morning walk. I bowed down on the street just before Prabhupada’s feet, and when I arose, he lightly touched me. He had already known about the strike because he had crossed them on the opposite side of the street, and they had yelled at him for sending me to work. I was not about to lose months of pay just to secure a higher wage. We needed money every day for Swamiji’s storefront. The devotees here loved those stories, and I loved telling them. Then I read lots of poems. After it was over, Sastra asked me, “Was it exhilarating or exhausting?”
“Both,” I said.

For twenty years here, at lunch, Radhanatha Swami sits with the devotees, and they have a reading of Prabhupada-lilamrta. They read the book again and again, and no one talks during the meals or falls asleep. So they were happy to have me here in their presence while they read it again. Many people come up to me and express their gratitude for my writing the books. It’s a unique place in ISKCON for me.

JANUARY 19
I’m losing track of how many classes I’m giving here. Chowpatty is alive with bhakti. The devotees here are very intelligent and are in the service mood. I had two programs yesterday, in which I read a lot from my books, including poetry. Radhanatha Maharaja said he could fill the hall for me anytime I wanted, two hundred people. He invited me to accompany him to a program at the Birla’s house last night but said there would be fifteen hundred people there, and I thought it was too much for me. But the devotees expect another class from me here. Instead, I spoke to about six of the Back to Godhead staff, who are doing wonderful things translating in three different languages, although against some typical indifference to the importane of Back to Godhead magazine.

I don’t have a clock with big digits to see the passing of the time during the night, and I woke almost every half hour. Finally got up at one thirty. I hope I’ll be able to get through the day without too much sleepiness. Tonight’s another grand program, a Saturday night congregation. I think instead of reading from my books as usual, I will ask for questions and try to give answers to relevant topics on their minds. Nitai-Gauranga asked if I was actually “into” taking part in the programs or whether I’m just doing them. I said I liked doing them. The devotees here actually like me!