Being Krsna conscious means being in a state of Samadhi always remembering Krsna and never forgetting Him – the rule Rupa Goswami says transcends all others. In Bhagavad-gita Lord Krsna says, “Therefore, Arjuna, you should always think of Me in the form of Krsna and at the same time carry out your prescribed duty of fighting. With your activities dedicated to Me and your mind and intelligence fixed on Me, you will attain Me without doubt.” (8.7)

Even though most devotees understand the material world is not the place for right-thinking, civilized humans to live, we still fear and dread dying, even though we hope to reach a better destination afterward.

One of Ksirodakasayee Visnu’s sons, while a student at Oxford, wrote to Srila Prabhupada asking what was wrong with mental speculation. Srila Prabhupada wrote back that when Krsna says, “I am the taste of water” we should try to understand HOW Krsna is the taste of water, and that that is REAL mental speculation. The specific reference reads as follows: “As for the difference between mental speculation and philosophical speculation, we take it that everything is known by the psychological action of the mind, so that philosophical speculation is the same as mental speculation if it is merely the random or haphazard activity of the brain to understand everything and making theories, “if’s” and ‘maybe’s.” But if philosophical speculation is directed by Sastra and Guru, and if the goal of such philosophical attempts is to achieve Visnu, then that philosophical speculation is not mental speculation. It is just like this: Krishna says in Bhagavad-gita that “I am the taste of water.” Philosophical speculation in the accepted sense then means to try to understand, under the direction of Sastra and Guru, just how Krishna is the taste of water. The points of Bhagavad-gita, though they are simple and complete, can be understood from unlimited angles of vision. So our philosophy is not dry, like mental speculation. The proper function of the brain or psychological activity is to understand everything through Krsna’s perspective or point-of-view, and so there is no limit to that understanding because Krsna is unlimited, and even though it can be said that the devotee who knows Krsna, he knows everything (15th Chapter), still, the philosophical process never stops and the devotee continues to increase his knowledge even though he knows everything. Try to understand this point….” (letter dated 21 January 1972).

(The following article was posted in the “Meditations” column of the Hindustan Times, one of India’s largest English language daily newspapers, on 13 January 2003.) Imagine thousands crossing the ice. Braving the frozen Rhine in 1407 to conquer Rome? Nevsky’s forces stopping Germanic armies in 1242 on the frozen channel between Chad and Pskov? Guess again. The year is 1925; the time 1:00 am. The place: Ontario, Canada. Half the local population runs toward one of the continent’s greatest spectacles. Niagara Falls has frozen over. The silence is so deafening that thousands have to see what’s up. The roar has ceased, and the people must discover what’s gone wrong, no clatter, no crackle. Zounds! No sound! Sound. Love or hate it, it’s all around. In the Himalayas sounds have caused avalanches. High notes can break glass, vex pets, clean teeth and scrub jewelry. Ultrasound enables us to see. Technology exposes the potency of sound. Karna was cursed (by sound) that when he faced his greatest danger he would forget the only mantra to activate his celestial weapon and save him. At the crucial time he was silent. So says the Mahabharata. Brahminical sound destroyed the wicked King Vena. Words emitted by Joseph Stalin caused tens of millions to perish in purges. A mother’s voice soothes her child. Gandhi’s words transformed dreams to reality in the fight for politicaljustice. Students of ‘classical culture’ say the ancients didn’t see their thoughts as belonging to them – it was always a god or goddess giving an order. Apollo ‘told’ them to be brave; Athena ‘dictated’ that they fall in love. They ‘heard’ their favourites. Today people hear commercials for movies or candy bars and rush out to spend. As they scurried to icy spaces, they now sizzle with hot products. Sounds and mantras destroy or liberate. Repetition is not essential, but due to a loss of spiritual energy, it helps. What matters is the purity, source and accessibility. The mahamantra – Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare, Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare – still summons serene times in the midst of the ‘age of quarrel’ (kali-yuga). It’s a blast of summer in winter, blossoms when there should be snow. It’s wise to be spiritually equipped in this age, as we live in a treacherous time. Silence is the most secret of sounds, but the mahamantra sung as a form of samadhi brings happiness. Even in the face of death, even if the oceans freeze, this sound sings us into life.

(The following article was posted in the “Off Track” column of the Hindustan Times, one of India’s largest English language daily newspapers, on 29 July 2003.) Watching pilgrims’ dandavat parikramas around Govardhan at this time of year is inspirational. Most are elderly and engage in this totally radical form of worship in unforgiving heat. But swelter isn’t the real problem. The biggie here is noise pollution, or NP. You say you don’t want to know what noiseaholics are like in small north Indian villages? Sorry, but I have to tell you. Wearing the softest rubber-plastic earplugs available starts to hurt after 24 hours. The voice outside is amplified to 989.99 decibels through a loudspeaker shaped like a Tibetan mountain horn-meets-a-ship’s warning distress signal. Its perched upon a short concrete pole 30 meters from where I sleep in this bucolic hideaway. Life goes on, NP or not. The man sounds like he’s having his entrails ripped out by two Rottweilers, a Doberman pinchers and an Irish wolfhound. That was last night. All of last night. This morning Minnie Mouse took the microphone and was never in finer fettle. I thought I liked music. But film “song” can be more excruciating than full throttle jet engines up close. By the way, they have their own generators, so power cuts don’t allow easier breathing. I detest adjectives, so I won’t call it horrific, criminal, foul or agonizing. I won’t declare that I can’t sleep at night, nor will I divulge that I loathe the vibrations that saturate the ether around me. That extreme amplification isn’t necessary is something I won’t dwell on, but I’m convinced people livin nearby have serious hearing problems. Beg them to lower the volume? Just a little? No way! “This is my life, Baba.” Go to the police? They’re too busy catching thieves and murderers. Give them a backhander? Well, right now that’s against my principles. What sometimes passes for dulcet strings or celestial music is ultimately a form of sound. Singsong acappella “poetry” in Vrajbasi (male voice) are common fare. And spirited ‘songs’ (soprano female voices) accompanied by lively wind, string and percussion instruments, should make Lata Mangeshkar and Asha Bhosle (or whoever) wretch in agony. But I think they like being broadcast in remote regions, cinema soundtrack or quasi-bhajan. Holy places infected with such brash NP convictions as ‘my way or the highway’ aren’t really that different from the telltale “thump, thump” of the bass guitars that throb through frosted windows of red sporty-looking cars with dangerous hubcaps on busy city streets. Some lovers of the beat don’t even bother to put up their car windows on summer days but they love playing their favorite chart-busters at peak volume. Maybe they prefer oxygen to freon. Maybe they’re right about some things. Well, at least you don’t have to sleep next to them.

In the Caitanya Caritamrta, there is a description of a Ratha car that Krsnadas Kaviraja says was “as high as Mount Sumeru.” In the purport, Srila Prabhupada refers to a photograph that appeared in London’s Guardian newspaper, a photo which made the London Rathayatra canopy seem almost as tall at the 170-foot-high Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square (CC, Madhya, 13.19). Was the verse an example of hyperbole? Not quite! (Admiral Nelson was a well-known colonizer).

In the Vraj region, the night time loudspeakers (sometimes like lullabies) and the ubiquitous graffiti are tolerable, and even inspiring.

Today I’m going to fittingly end my recent epigrammatic rampage with a quote from Oscar Wilde. Wilde said something which indicates that life can be all clich?s, a series of sayings, a string of adages, a mountain of witticisms. Wilde is famous for his use of these. He once said: “Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.” This is partially true, but it depends on who we want to be like. If one lives by the Vedas and their truths are made our own there is nothing but benefit. But we always follow in the footsteps (mahajano yena gatah sa panthah) rather than imitate. There’s a huge difference.

The Vedic statement that time varies in different celestial regions predates theories of relativity by centuries. We’ve heard how traveling west by airplane during the day, produces the phenomenon of ‘chasing the sun,” or approaching continuous daylight. Flying in an airplane or rocket at the equator, at an earth groundspeed of approximately 1,000 mph makes this a reality.

New Zealanders commonly say, “Good as Gold.” It is interesting that goodness is so nonchalantly equated with gold. In an interesting twist on the importance of money, Srila Prabhupada has interestingly pointed out how worthless money actually is. He told us that one who has a lot of money feels that the money is his most prized possession and his dearest friend. Yet that very same money, if lost and in the hands of the man’s competitor, can be the very same man’s worst and most hated and feared enemy. Similarly, one who is attached to the body, considering its life’s most sacred treasure, can easily come to loathe, and fear it, especially in times of sickness, old age, and, of course, imminent death. Thus knowledge of detachment from the material body should be understood, from an early age, cultivated and meditated upon throughout life.