In2-MeC

Lutotin Preaching Center, Czech Republic
18 July 2003

Last night we stayed in the Bratislava preaching center. Vidyagati and I pretty much had the whole place to ourselves since most of the devotees were away. That night I dreamed of lions. Usually I remember very little of my dreams. But last night the weather changed from clear skies to heavy rain. Such sudden shifts of weather make me ill, and when I am ill, only then my dreams are more vivid. Anyway, there were lions in my dream...not that they did anything, they were just there. The "science" of omens has a dream of lions indicating future greatness and victory over enemies.

I have no enemies outside myself. I am a soldier standing guard over my heart: not against evil forces from without, but from within. If evil forces occupy my heart it is only because I allowed them to. I have a duty given me by the Lord to assist Him in watching over my heart, and if I do not do that duty well, it means my purpose as a soldier is not surrendered to Him. If I am not surrendered to Him, then I surely aid the cause of the enemy. Thus I become my own enemy. I become a secret agent for maya in the garden of my own heart.

mali hana kare sei bija aropana >sravana-kirtana-jale karaye secana

When a person receives the seed of devotional service, he should take care of it by becoming a gardener and sowing the seed in his heart. If he waters the seed gradually by the process of sravana and kirtana [hearing and chanting], the seed will begin to sprout. [Sri Caitanya-caritamrta Madhya 19.152]

The Lord gives the fertile soil. He gives plants that bear fruits, flowers, grains and vegetables. He gives the sunshine and rain by which plant life is nourished. A nice garden is impossible without these gifts of God. But the Lord ordains that a man must offer his own special contribution so that a garden can grow. That contribution is his work.

The same is true in spiritual life, which means the cultivation of the garden of the heart. Without Krsna's mercy there can be no spiritual life; but we cannot simply say, "So now that I've surrendered to Him, let Krsna do everything. I'll wear tilak and neckbeads and hang a beadbag around my neck to show I'm a devotee, but why should I work hard? That's not spiritual life, that's material life."

The agriculturist works early and late if he is serious about getting a rich harvest. He has to be on guard every step of the way, making sure the crops are well-tended and protected from weeds, disease, insects, animals and birds. The agriculturist labors hard and is ever alert to do whatever is necessary, but in the end, the harvest depends upon God.

And so it is in the garden of the heart.

If we are lazy, neglectful gardeners, what can we expect the earth to yield? When I was a small boy I used to often play in a very large untended field next to a motel owned by a family that was friends to my family. In the warm months of the spring and summer, nice berry bushes used to grow here and there in that field. But mostly it was a tangle of high grass, scrubby trees, tall weeds, thorn bushes, thistles, and stinging nettles that would give me awful itches when I brushed against them. That wild field is like the wild heart. Some good may be there by God's grace, like those berry bushes that I used to pick clean. In the main, though, a wild field is thick with useless, entangling growth. The good is more than offset by the bad. That's what we get if we let the garden of the heart grow "free."

Modern people have turned away from the agricultural life. They find the city much more exciting. Plus you don't have to break your back under the hot sun. City dwellers like day jobs with fixed hours in shops and offices. Easy indoor work, good pay, and when your working day is done, lots of fun. Who needs to grow food when you have supermarkets, restaurants and snack bars everywhere?

Modern people have the same attitude about spiritual life. "Why bother praying to God? We have everything we need right here in the city." Yes, but remember that even before you lived in New York, London, Paris or in whatever city you like to call home, at the time you were in your mother's womb, a city of nine gates grew up all around you. Yes, in this life your present body is the first city you lived in. And you will live in it the rest of your life no matter where you go in the world. You are prisoner to the body. And like the ancient cities of Troy, Luxor, Hampi (Vijayanagara), Carthage and so many others, one day that body will lie in ruins. Then where will you be?

Another thing is that the city is a jungle. The year I was born Hollywood released what is now considered a classic film noir called The Asphalt Jungle. It depicted the urban underworld as a murky Hades of criminal anti-heros, crooked cops and shady lawyers, good-time girls, and the desperate poor who without a second thought risk their wretched lives to make a fast dollar. But never mind that. Even the "overworld"--the world of so-called respectable, law-abiding citydwellers--is a jungle, full of false friendships, cheating, malicious gossip, dirty deals in politics and business, secret sins and, amidst all the glitter, lonely despair.

There is another dream I had, years ago, that I still remember. I found myself in a strange city at night. It was a bleak place; the buildings were old, covered with grime and in need of repair. The city of my dream looked like certain parts of Calcutta; or Rangoon in Burma which I once visited in the 1980s; or Bucharest in Rumania. I was wandering through this strange city all alone. No one else was on the streets. Emotions surged up inside of me, especially fear and anger. Suddenly I heard sweet laughter from across the street. I turned to look. I saw some boys there, and then they were not there. I woke up realizing that those boys were Sri Krsna and His friends. In my dream I was lost in the City of the Dead, Maya-devi's own capital, in which the soul scuttles about like a rat to "enjoy" by chewing on old bones and imagining himself the owner and enjoyer of everything. But Krsna appeared there for a moment to mercifully laugh at my foolishness. The City of the Dead is not my home.

God Himself is a vaisya who lives in Sri Vrndavan, a transcendental pastoral village. It's true that sometimes He appears to go elsewhere--to Mathura, Dvaraka, Kuruksetra--thus seeming to abandon His home, family and friends. In truth He simply hides Himself in the cores of the hearts of His fellow Vrndavanites. There, in His bhava-rupa He churns the nectarean ocean of their love for Him, and His love for Them. In truth He never sets foot outside of Vrndavan.

ore, vrndavaner nanda dulal
rakhal raja re
kadhaliyar sure sure
vamsi baja re

O dear one who belongs to Vrndavan! O darling son of Nanda Maharaj! O prince of the cowherd boys, kindly play again on Your flute so we may hear the melodies dear to all Your friends.

ore, gopal tor bihone
phute na phul vrndavane
abhisarer ei madhuvan
emni saja re

O Gopal, since You've left Vrndavan, the flowers have lost their desire to bloom. Still we decorate the moonlit groves of Madhuvan, hoping You will return for Your amorous rendezvous.

sridam sudam bhai balaram
dakche ai kanai
chorai dhenu bajai venu
ai re o bhai ai

Sridam, Sudam and Your brother Balaram are calling, "O Kanai! Please come back!" While tending the calves and playing on their flutes they entreat, "O brother! Please come home!"

ma yasoda dakche tore
nani chura ai na, ore
boyche radhar prema jamuna
hrdoy maha re

Mother Yasoda is crying out, "O Gopal! You are my life and soul! Please come home, O butter thief!" Within the heart of Sri Radha, divine love for You flows like the Yamuna River.

The Vrajavasis anxiously await the return of Krsna to the lovely fields, groves and gardens of sacred Vrndavan. Similarly, the gardener of the heart looks forward only to the day when he harvests eternal association of the Lord. In this mood he works, and continues to work, even if it takes millions of births to realize the fruit of his toil.

mama mana mandire raha nisi-din
krsna murari sri krsna murari

Please abide in the temple of my heart both day and night, O Krsna Murari, O Sri Krsna Murari!

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