by Jyoti
The rain had cleared from the evening before leaving the air crisp as my husband and I headed for the last day of the retreat at Gita Nagari Farm. Lectures were scarce that morning. The mood was replaced with celebration.
HH Radhanath Swami, along with monks and devotees, started in the middle of the room singing praises to Krishna. Kartals, mridanga drums and voices swelled in call and response as the wax figure of the beloved, Srila Prabhupada, looked on.
Women on one side, men on the other, yet this was in no shape or form like my time at the temple my husband and I attended. Faces were not stoic or tempered. They were swelling with joy as the mantras filled the room. The men not only danced alone or in circles, but the women clasped hands in small groups of 6 or more. One woman waived me into one such circle. We circled around and moved forward and back with the usual dance steps. Right foot forward, left foot forward. Left foot back. Right foot back.
Each woman in our group moved to the middle for a turn at dancing, almost wildly. Their souls were freed by chanting "Hare Krishna" in unison and their bodies let go of all fear, all reservation, and matched the joyous mood. Soon, I too was guided into the middle, turning round and round as I bounced off the floor in the middle of the women, almost in a whirling dervish. I stopped when I felt I had consumed too much time and despite feeling like I would fall over from dizziness, the women clasped my hands keeping me upright.
Maharaj jumped up and down in his saffron robe in delight singing, "Hare Krishna. Hare Krishna. Krishna Krishna. Hare Hare. Hare Rama. Hare Rama. Rama Rama. Hare Hare."
His face lit up like a young child playing a game for the first time, intoxicated by chanting the holy name. His humble demeanor was replaced with exultation. We all became devotees without barriers. We embraced childlike enthusiasm and exuded the innocence born from love and freedom. As Srila Prabhupada said, "and thus this sound vibration surpasses all lower strata of consciousness - namely sensual, mental and intellectual."
Aarti made its way around the room, and we all scooped up the heat of light to our heads. A little girl with a perfumed flower came over to us to smell the sweetness of it.
How long we stayed in this ecstatic state, chanting the Maha mantra and other mantras, is unknown. In the space of kirtan, there is no time. There was only the scent of the sweet flower. The heat of the candles. The sound of the Lord's name. The love blooming from each heart. And the sound of the sweet Lord's name.
The rain had cleared from the evening before leaving the air crisp as my husband and I headed for the last day of the retreat at Gita Nagari Farm. Lectures were scarce that morning. The mood was replaced with celebration.
HH Radhanath Swami, along with monks and devotees, started in the middle of the room singing praises to Krishna. Kartals, mridanga drums and voices swelled in call and response as the wax figure of the beloved, Srila Prabhupada, looked on.
Women on one side, men on the other, yet this was in no shape or form like my time at the temple my husband and I attended. Faces were not stoic or tempered. They were swelling with joy as the mantras filled the room. The men not only danced alone or in circles, but the women clasped hands in small groups of 6 or more. One woman waived me into one such circle. We circled around and moved forward and back with the usual dance steps. Right foot forward, left foot forward. Left foot back. Right foot back.
Each woman in our group moved to the middle for a turn at dancing, almost wildly. Their souls were freed by chanting "Hare Krishna" in unison and their bodies let go of all fear, all reservation, and matched the joyous mood. Soon, I too was guided into the middle, turning round and round as I bounced off the floor in the middle of the women, almost in a whirling dervish. I stopped when I felt I had consumed too much time and despite feeling like I would fall over from dizziness, the women clasped my hands keeping me upright.
Maharaj jumped up and down in his saffron robe in delight singing, "Hare Krishna. Hare Krishna. Krishna Krishna. Hare Hare. Hare Rama. Hare Rama. Rama Rama. Hare Hare."
His face lit up like a young child playing a game for the first time, intoxicated by chanting the holy name. His humble demeanor was replaced with exultation. We all became devotees without barriers. We embraced childlike enthusiasm and exuded the innocence born from love and freedom. As Srila Prabhupada said, "and thus this sound vibration surpasses all lower strata of consciousness - namely sensual, mental and intellectual."
Aarti made its way around the room, and we all scooped up the heat of light to our heads. A little girl with a perfumed flower came over to us to smell the sweetness of it.
How long we stayed in this ecstatic state, chanting the Maha mantra and other mantras, is unknown. In the space of kirtan, there is no time. There was only the scent of the sweet flower. The heat of the candles. The sound of the Lord's name. The love blooming from each heart. And the sound of the sweet Lord's name.
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