A Story

Posted by dinesh

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Seed of Devotion <bijaji@gmail.com>
Date: Fri, 29 Apr 2011 11:08:45 +0000
Subject: A Story
To: dineshkrishna108@gmail.com

Seed of Devotion

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A Story

Posted: 28 Apr 2011 08:32 AM PDT
http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SeedOfDevotion/~3/tdQJB1cbwOs/story.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email

This particular story began when I was thirteen - I began to develop a
chronic, mysterious illness that only became progressively more painful.
One day at school when I was fourteen, Google was just emerging as a tool
to find information, so I searched for the symptoms of my illness.

A form of cancer.

6 months to 1 year to live.

I remember that my mind numbed, my vision became sharp and blurred at the
same time. I remember that I stood up from the computer and walked out into
the hot sun. Students and teachers busily moved about me in a whirl, and
one question echoed in my mind:

Why?

How do I describe how it feels to hear one's own death sentence? At
fourteen, I was planning all the things I would do - the world to travel,
schools to establish, people to meet - and in one moment it had all been
taken away from me. It seemed so unjust, so unfair.

With my deep nature and immature age, the weight of the mystery of life and
death began to crush down upon me that day and for many years to come. I
did not tell anyone what I had found. Instead, I searched for the meaning
of life in scripture, in my faith.

The next several years brought in a merry-go-round of doctors. One doctor
in particular looked at my condition and nearly declared that I had cancer
and would need a very invasive surgery if I had any hope to live. Her
diagnosis was incorrect, but the mystery persisted.

For my fifteenth summer, I flew to my childhood home of New Vrindavan. A
spiritual teacher was visiting then, by the name of Radhanath Swami. One
morning he was giving a lecture and I decided to stay. His lecture spoke
about life and death - the immediacy that at any moment we may die and the
immediacy of taking to spiritual life right now. Tears streamed down my
face because I knew he spoke from realization - he must have heard his own
death sentence in his life once, because his words resonated so deeply
within me.

An elder woman who had known me for many years as a child saw me crying and
came over to comfort me. She asked me what was wrong. All I could say
was, "This is true."

I struggled for many years with my illness, but I found shelter in Krishna
Consciousness, and I found shelter in the guidance of Radhanath Swami.

Radhanath Swami once told me that in metalworking, gold is put into a fire
to purify it. The hotter the fire, the purer the metal becomes. Our soul is
like that - sometimes if the Lord is especially loving and kind, He will
put us into the fire of an experience to purify our soul.

More than a decade has passed since that fateful day at school. Several
years ago, my illness left me just as mysteriously as it came. To this day,
I still do not know its name or cause.

Or maybe I do: its name was "fire" and its cause was to purify my soul, to
learn to live every day of my life, every moment of my life, every breath
of my life for the Lord. Some days I weep tears of gratitude for that fire,
and grateful to my spiritual master, Radhanath Swami, for teaching me that
that fire was one of the most beautiful blessings I could ever receive from
the Lord. Subscribe

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The Most Beautiful Poem

Posted: 20 Apr 2011 06:22 PM PDT
http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SeedOfDevotion/~3/ZajJ1qQJ-Qo/most-beautiful-poem.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email

I flip through the pages of a thick book by my favorite poet, seeking
inspiration to write a speech for a college class. I skim for eye-catching
words, but then land upon a poem that draws me all the way in.

"Wow," I breathe.

I softly knock on Shalagram's door. "Come in," she says.

She's eating dinner in front of her window, and I settle upon her
mattress. "May I read you a poem?" I ask.

"Sure," she says. "Who is it by?"

"The ancient Sufi poet, Hafiz," I reply.

When I finish my declamation, we sit in silence for several moments.
Then, "Wow," Shalagram breathes.

"Stunning, no?"

"Amazing. Bhakti, do you think it's possible to have that kind of love?"

I ponder for a moment. "It's not possible with material love," I say. "Only
spiritual love. I realize that... Srila Prabhupad has shown this love to
us. How profound that he has shown this love to thousands and millions of
us."

We sit in silence for a couple moments more, pondering this poem.

***

"Some Fill With Each Good Rain"

There are different wells within your heartSome fill with each good
rain,Others are far too deep for that.

In one wellYou have just a few precious cups of water,

That "love" is literally something of yourself,It can grow as slow as a
diamondIf it is lost.

Your loveShould never be offered to the mouth of aStranger,

Only to someoneWho has the valor and daringTo cut pieces of their soul off
with a knife

Then weave them into a blanketTo protect you.

There are different wells within us.Some fill with each good rain,

Others are far, far too deepFor that.

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Yours
Dinesh