9/9/18 9/9/18

Magnificent Trees

by Ananda Vrindavan Devi Dasi

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In autumn you are the teachers

Of how to grow old and shine

You stand tall and blast

Your colors against the blue sky

Your leaves are fearless in their

Journey of change, smiling upon us all

As they fall and kiss the earth

Your soul emerges, vulnerable

As core trunk and branches

Holding it all together, standing tall

And strong and good and beautiful

The trees are leading and teaching

How to live and love and let go

Listen, for our journey is the same.

9/4/18 9/4/18

A Tiny Seed Planted in One Heart

[perfectpullquote align="full" cite="" link="" color="" class="" size=""] Out of many millions of wandering living beings, by the mercy of both Krishna and the guru, one who is very fortunate receives the seed of the creeper of devotional service: Bhakti. (Chaitanya Charitamrita, Madhya Lila, verse 19.151) [/perfectpullquote]

I am in Moscow right now. Over the last few days here we celebrated Sri Krsna Janmastami, or the Appearance Day of Lord Sri Krishna. The following day, which is called the Nandotsava—the day when Krsna’s appearance festival is celebrated—is the Appearance Day of my guru, Srila Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada.

Prabhupada spent five days in Moscow in 1971. During that time he met a young Russian boy and taught him some basic principles from the Bhagavad Gita of Bhakti Yoga.

This year, for Krishna Janmastami, Prabhupada’s devotees booked the largest stadium in Moscow for the festivities. It was a Monday, a workday, and the first day of school for the children here. The temple president was apologizing to me that, because of the circumstance, only eight thousand people showed up to attend the festival. To me, eight thousand people is a miracle of grace! After only forty-seven years, there are thousands of devotees of Krishna living and serving throughout Russia.

Each year in honor of the Appearance Day of Srila Prabhupada, I write an offering of gratitude to him for his pleasure. Here is my remembrance of being with him: my offering for 2018:

The rainy season

In Sri Vrindavan:

To hear from you

We had such fortune.

As Narada heard

From the Bhaktivedantas

In the rainy season,

But in rapt attention.

I pray to hear as young Narada heard,

As Parikshit heard those last few words,

As Arjuna heard with attentive mind,

His bow again lifted, with arrows aligned.

To chant as a child who cried for her mother,

To drink your words as a calf to the udder,

To be simple, sincere, no other motivation,

To hear in this way brings deep realization.

To sit near you again, and again to hear,

With longing heart and open ear,

To carry Vrindavan as you have done,

My heart ignited through sacred sound.

When oh when will that day be mine?

All seasons, all places, become sublime!

Such fortune still mine in this very moment,

To hear your dictation and words most potent.

The rainy season

In Sri Vrindavan:

To hear from you

We have such fortune!

All the best,

Rukmini Walker

8/12/18 8/12/18

Storm

by Ananda Vrindavan Devi Dasi

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There was a storm just now

the thunder was galloping

across the grey sky

and I sat outside and

loved the wildness of it all

and thought, maybe that's

what the mantra does to my soul

crashes in and makes me

full of life and energy

and maybe that's what K is

a wild man full of love

and adventure and energies

of beauty and

then the rain crashed down

and swept me away in rivers

of meeting and being together

and I thought

it has to be there somewhere

this wild, free, glorious love

7/28/18 7/28/18

Particles of Dust

I'm very happy to introduce the readers of Urban Devi to the poetry of one of my dearest friends, Ananda Vrindavan. In addition to being a beautiful poet, she is the community president of ISKCON of DC. Please visit their website at iskconofdc.org Please watch for her poems to be regularly appearing on our Urban Devi website. -- Rukmini

Particles of Dust

By Ananda Vrindavan Devi Dasi

If a genius could count them

Those little particles of dust

All across the earth and universe

And then tried to count

The qualities of Sri Krishna

It would not be possible

As the qualities of Krishna

Are never ending

And more numerous

And nicer

Than all the dust

Ever blown around

This dusty, dank

Dangerous and dead

Excuse for life

This material universe

Is or tries to be.

7/21/18 7/21/18

Beginning Steps to an Authentic Love

by Rukmini Walker

Today, although I didn’t mean to—and it was the furthest thing from my mind and intention—I hurt the soft and tender heart of a very dear friend.

Life gets busy, and we are so often focused elsewhere, and not on the quality of our precious relationships at each moment. So often I unknowingly trample on those who are dearest to me, because I’m thinking of tomorrow. Or, even worse, sometimes in distraction or abstraction, I’m thinking of a higher realm of love to which I have little access at this point in my realization.

I love this piece by Persian poet Hafiz c. 1320 to 1389, although I cringe to think that the man in the story could be me. Could he be you sometimes also?

Becoming Human

Once a man came to me and spoke for hours about

“His great visions of God” he felt he was having.

He asked me for confirmation saying

“Are these wondrous dreams true?”

I replied, “How many goats do you have?”

He looked surprised and said,

“I am speaking of sublime visions

And you ask

About goats?”

And I spoke again saying

“Yes, brother- how many do you have?”

“Well, Hafiz, I have sixty-two.”

“And how many wives?”

And he looked surprised, then said,

“Four.”

How many rosebushes in your garden?

How many children,

Are your parents still alive,

Do you feed the birds in winter?

And to all he answered.

Then I said,

“You asked me if I thought your visions were true

I would say that they were if they made you become

More human,

More kind to every creature and plant

That you know.”

~Hafiz~

7/2/18 7/2/18

Ode to the Holy Name

by Jahnavi Harrison

Whisper it beneath the summer oakswhile swallows dive aboveShout it in your morning shower,share it with the ones you love.Sing it loud, groups of ten,three or seventy-five,brand it on your beating chest andkeep your heart alive.In the garden, on the bus,before exams and interviews,at joyous birth and bitter death,sing this name, loud and true.Call it when your days are long,breathe it in and out with heavy head,cry it over your morning tea,and into your pillow before bed.Wash this name through every fibre,rinse and repeat, rinse and repeatsing with everything you have,soft, sweet, subtle, deep.

(This poem originally appeared in Bhakti Blossoms: A Collection of Contemporary Vaishnavi Poetry, Published in August 2018, with Golden Dragonfly Press)

6/30/18 6/30/18

Lost in Stories

Lost in Stories

By Ananda Vrindavan

We are deeply imbedded in this world

In story after story after story

Some ours, some others, some we

Shouldn’t even care about, but we do.

Some we were a lifetime searching for

And when we put the pieces together

It turned out to be a story we didn’t want to know

But now do, and have to work it in and out of our lives.

Where there is life, there is story

And where there is life around God there is more story.

But we are afraid of that

We can be people of story but not Him

We can laugh and sing and dance and cry

But who wants God to be an ordinary man of stories?

It’s too close to the bone.

But listen - His story is like the incredible night sky that

Wraps it’s glorious starry blanket around the earth

And those asleep upon it. His story contains us all

But we don’t want our part.

We are busy in the small screens of our own lives, lost in our own story.