Camp: Guayaquil, Ecuador
Dateline: April / May 2001
(After one month in the Andean town of Cuenca studying Spanish, Vrajadhama and I returned to the Ecuadorian coastal capital of Guayaquil and the temple there for the festival of Lord Nrsimhadeva, before setting off for the preaching fields of Peru)
I am cleaning the temple floor in Guayaquil. It is night time, maybe 9pm by this stage. It is hot – damned hot. The sound of salsa forces its way in through the window, and it is trying to force its way into my consciousness too. It is Saturday night – everyone is partying. The temple is right smack in the middle of town – three stories taking up a corner of the block. It is a million dollar building here – location, location, location. It looks a lot better from outside than the surrounding buildings. Inside I don’t know, but I think the same.
I am sun burned, quite badly. A day in the sun in Ecuador can do that to you. A day in the sun in New Zealand, however, can put you in hospital. We have more sun here in Ecuador, but there is also more ozone too. I am cleaning the temple for the festival tomorrow. One of the new devotees here, Manuel, is helping me. He moved into the temple last week, and is flush with new enthusiasm. I like to be around him.
It is a big job, as the temple room is quite large. Actually the festival tomorrow is only part of it. The windows of the temple room face out onto the streets of Guayaquil. As a result, dirt and dust flows in every day. This morning at mangal-arati, the morning program commencing at 4:30am, my white clothes were ruined immediately upon offering my obeisances on the temple room floor.
Some people have a thing about offering obeisances, maybe due to cultural conditioning. In Japan it seemed like part of every day life for many people, non-devotees included. I remember the first time I ever saw it. I was at the Loft, and I had come to hear Devamrita Swami speak for the first time. I was early, and I was sitting on the floor, waiting. A new guy, whom I hadn’t met in my few months of attendance at the Loft came in and asked me if I was giving the class. I told him no. We waited. A woman in a sari came in – she didn’t say anything. We waited, and then a man dressed in saffron cloth came in. Immediately this woman got up and fell on the floor at his feet, her head touching the ground. I thought: “I guess he’s giving the class.” It was pretty heavy.
Some people say that you shouldn’t bow down to anyone or anything, but at the same time, they prostrate themselves at the feet of so many things in so many ways. In the Bhagavad-Gita, Krishna tells us to always offer our obeisances to him. In the temple every morning the devotees do this, and they offer obeisances to anyone who is a devotee, such a rare and special person, a representative of the Lord. It’s a mechanical thing, but everything starts off mechanically.
Anyway, offering obeisances in the temple room made my white cloth turn immediately a grey-brown mix. It’s a little annoying to me. I’ve become quite attached to cleanliness. So I am cleaning the temple room. Tomorrow, guests will be coming for the festival. I want the temple to be clean for this.
I am washing it the way I have been taught, with buckets of hot water and detergent, on my hands and knees with a cloth. Srila Prabhupada taught his disciples to clean like this. Using a mop doesn’t really get the floor clean. I could never go back to that method again. I look down and see ants running around on the ground. I take back what I said about them last time. Actually they are called “Las ormegas”. These ones are running around wildly, following a random pattern. That means that they are lost.
Ants find their way around by following trails of pheromones, or biologically produced chemicals that they smell. I don’t know who lays the trails. Maybe some of the ants are just natural pioneers. In the Bhagavad-gita Krishna informs Arjuna that whatever actions a great man performs, the common man follows, and thus Arjuna, as a devotee, must set a good example. All the leaders of this world, at every level, from the head of the family to the head of the state, share this burden. Ants, it seems, are no exception. Nature can teach us many lessons.
These ants are lost. My cleaning has erased their trail back home. They are running around randomly at high speed, an automatic response to the situation, trying to find it again. I watch them. They are not so efficient on their own. They run in circles, covering the same ground. Without the optimising effect of their group effort, they are surprising helpless. Usually the ant trail will automatically optimise as ants travel along different routes. The smell of the quickest route will intensify faster as the ants travel back and forth along it in less time, and thus ants choosing a trail will take this one, eventually making it exclusively. Our spiritual practice is like this too. The group effort is very powerful, more powerful than the individual efforts made separately.
I wonder how long the ants can survive like this. Will they find their way home? How much energy do they have? Can they get more from the environment, or have I sentenced them to death with my actions? I think about the situation.
In Vedic times, householders would perform special yajnas, or sacrifices, every day, in order to atone for the inadvertent karmic reactions that they accrued in the course of everyday life. By cleaning, one inconveniences or kills so many life forms. The ants are just one. A sect from India called the Jains seek to avoid these reactions by a strict diet, wearing masks to avoid inadvertently inhaling even microscopic creatures, and watching where they are walking to avoid stepping on anything. Srila Prabhupada said that this was a concocted religious system, and that such an approach is doomed to failure. It does seem like it would be rather prone to error. Still, you can’t blame them for trying, even while understanding that there may be a better way.
Even if they only eat fruits that fall from a tree, avoiding killing even vegetables, I read a book called “the Secret Life of Plants” where it talked about the work of scientist Jagadish Chandra Bose. Prabhupada would sometimes quote this scientist. Bose made instruments that could measure microscopic changes in plants and fruits. He found that carrots try to, ever so microscopically, avoid a pin prick and that fruits scream when cut. Everything that has life has consciousness.
What about these ants? I recall a story from the sacred literature. Once a great sage was meditating in his ashram. Nearby a thief was being chased by the men of the king. The thief ran into the hermitage of the sage and ran out the other side. When the soldiers arrived, they arrested the sage, mistaking him for the thief. The sage was dragged before the magistrate who summarily sentenced him to die by impaling, over his protestations of innocence. The soldiers prepared to carry out the sentence, but the sage was so powerful that he was able to make a very high level appeal – he summoned the demigod in charge of meting out karmic reactions, Yamaraja.
When Yamaraja appeared, the sage demanded to know just what the heck was going on. Yamaraja explained that, sorry, but when you were a small boy you were a little naughty and you once pierced an ant through its bottom with a thorn, and this is your just desserts. As they say, every saint has a past and every sinner has a future. Well the sage responded with the obligatory, “do you know who I am?” and promptly cursed Yamaraja to be born on Earth as the son of a maidservant for his mistakenly applying a karmic reaction to a devotee, who is freed from all such things. Of course Yamaraja is also a devotee (you don’t get put in charge of karma unless you’re in with the man), and so this wasn’t his karma – turns out that Krishna wanted him to appear along with him for his past times on Earth, and this was how he did it. I don’t think that this situation really qualifies as my invitation to the eternal pastimes of the Lord, however.
What to do? I recall Srila Prabhupada speaking in his commentary on the Bhagavad-Gita. “A soldier in the course of duty kills so many people, but there is no reaction for this. However, if on his own account he kills even one person, he is immediately held responsible.” It seems as though I will be immune to reactions for this, as I am cleaning the temple for Krishna. However, I don’t think my consciousness is that pure. I’m not really cleaning the temple for the pleasure of Krishna, more for my own. I don’t like being dirty. If my cloth hadn’t gotten dirty this morning, I probably wouldn’t be doing this right now. It’s selfishly motivated. Sure, I’m thinking about the guests and the preaching aspect, and the consciousness of the devotees, but I started out thinking of my own comfort, and that’s still there somewhere.
I think of the examples of great saints in the scriptures, Mrgari and Bharata, the saint that the Jains claim as their founder (actually I remember now that they claim Rsabhadeva as their founder). Prabhupada says that this is a problem distinguishing between following a great saint and just trying to imitate them. Both would carefully step around ants, or brush them to the side before passing. Devamrita Swami has written a book about the encounter of King Rahugana and Saint Bharata. Bharata was press-ganged into carrying the King’s palaquin, but made a hash of it when he kept stepping to avoid ants. The King got down and was going to have him punished when he realised that he had inadvertently inconvenienced a maha-atma, a great soul. Bharata then instructed him in transcendental knowledge. The book is called “Perfect Escape”.
I squeeze out more water on the floor, and an ant runs right underneath it, dying in writhing agony in a matter of seconds. I’m not quite up there with Bharata or Mrgari; but an intelligent person should be worried about the reactions to their activities. By acting for Krishna, one is automatically protected. Even vegetarians get karma. Plants have feelings too, you know. Krishna explains that whoever enjoys the results, endures the reactions. It’s only fair – the universe is very much geared to user-pays. By offering their food first to Him, Krishna explains, the devotees are protected from all sinful reactions, as He is the enjoyer of the results, and picks up the tab on the reactions. The fully surrendered devotee has no independent action from the interest of Krishna, and thus can do whatever it takes in this regard without fear of reaction. However, a devotee who has mixed motivations must be very careful to do everything “by the book”, in order not to get reactions in proportion to their selfish motivation. At the same time, those highly advanced devotees who are fully, cent percent, dedicated to the cause of the Lord do not think of themselves as such, and they also heed the Lord’s instruction to set an example for those who are not of the same level of consciousness.
I bear this in mind as I keep washing the floor. I wish there was some way I could do this without inconveniencing the ants, but not enough to extend the job. It has already been an hour, and it is not yet half done. Bharata might have more compassion for the ants, but I have more thoughts about my own comfort. Imagine trying to deal with each and every little detail in this way – not possible for anyone other than the greatest saintly personalities. However, by watering the root of the tree, the whole tree is taken care of. In a similar way, by dealing with the pleasure of Krishna, automatically the pleasure of everyone is insured. This is Krishna’s message to Arjuna in Bhagavad-gita. Want to do the greatest good for the greatest number of people (the good of the many, as Spock would say)? Just try to serve Krishna, and automatically your actions will be for the longest range, most substantial happiness of not just for yourself, or even the most people, but all living entities, and even inanimate matter. How’s that for a proposition? If you can find a better one, even if it’s a long shot, let me know.
I soldier on, even though my initial enthusiasm has long since gone. Two hours down. I don’t talk with Manuel. We are both absorbed in the service, and the immense amount of energy that it takes to communicate helps us stay that way. Actually, I’m more absorbed in my mind. I think about what I am doing. “It’s a sacrifice. Maybe tomorrow the festival will be very ecstatic, in reciprocation.” What a motivated mentality. I think it over some more. Krishna is supremely independent. By performing this service, maybe He won’t even take any notice. He can do that – why not, He’s God. Who am I that I can force him to sit up and pay attention, come to serve me? I can try to do some service, but what he does is up to Him. Then it comes to me in a flash. The mercy descends and I get the realisation, the opportunity to do some slightly less selfish service. The deity rooms and kitchen, the “back stage” of the temple, is in the same condition. It needs to be cleaned. It’s no skin off my nose what the condition is like there - I don’t go there in the normal course of events. I am ecstatic. I got the nectar. Even motivated service is good – it is purifying and it leads on to higher stages. Maybe one day I’ll get there.
The salsa goes on. There is a party in the building opposite. I think about the price and reward of service, a lecture I listened to a while ago. What will be the result of this service, the reward? I know the answer intellectually – more service. I think about the situation. It is not that by performing this service I will get some reward in heaven after I die. The service itself is the reward – may it go on forever. Those people out there are actually suffering. They are desperately trying to enjoy, and ultimately they will fail. Even if they have a night where they think they are having fun, tomorrow or later, they will have to deal with the reactions to their activities. They can try to avoid them, but they will catch up with them in the end. On the other hand, although my senses are not being gratified in the same way theirs are, I am satisfied. I have no anxieties. I remember what it was like – anxiety about so many aspects, so many things that can wrong and “ruin your night”. I keep going on the floor.
In the kitchen I pour boiling water into my bucket. There is no hot water supply here, water must be heated on the stove. What do you want hot water for here anyway? It’s hot – damned hot. Steam rises from the boiling water, aggravating my burnt skin. I recall the description of the saintly personality given by Krishna in the Bhagavad-gita: “He is indifferent to heat and cold, pleasure and pain, honour and dishonour.” Many have interpreted this verse to mean that he or she is like the yogis who bury themselves underground for days at a time, or sit out exposed to the wind and rain for weeks. I think of Srila Prabhupada. A poster at the farm in Cuenca described him as “a saint of the 20th century”. To me, his life represents the true import of this verse. I recall the time he went to Russia, enduring the intense cold of the Russian winter to try to spread Krishna consciousness. Obviously he was accustomed to the weather conditions of India, and in his old age he could have opted to spend his time in Hawaii or any other place in the world where he would have been physically comfortable. However, he did not, instead displaying indifference to all these considerations in favour of the service of Krishna. In his twelve years of preaching in the West, he travelled around the world 14 times. Once a disciple complained that they couldn’t get vegetables in Russia, and that it took all their time just waiting in queues for them, and thus they couldn’t really preach. After hearing this several times, Srila Prabhupada then told him: “Then just eat meat!” The disciple was shocked. “But what about my consciousness?” “Damn your consciousness,” Srila Prabhupada replied, “The preaching must go on!”
This level of attachment to the service of Krishna, where one is prepared to do anything and everything, is the ultimate platform of service, described at the end of the Bhagavad-gita. Here was Srila Prabhupada, who practically introduced a vegetarian diet on a widespread scale to the West, telling his disciple to eat meat! After this the disciple no longer complained about the conditions, but I don’t think he took to eating meat.
I finish the cleaning. It is after 11pm now. The day of fasting for the festival starts in less than an hour. There is a bowl of milk and a banana waiting for me in the prasadam room. I take it looking out the window, or rather the hole in the wall where it seems a window used to be, at the people below. For some, the night has already reached the point of frustration, of intense anxiety. A woman is hassling her man who isn’t aggressive enough in procuring a taxi for her. Others keep pushing him aside and jumping in. I feel sorry for him. She is really pounding him. He just isn’t an overlording kind of guy, and she wants him to make it happen for her. If you don’t serve Krishna, you’ll end up serving someone.
I often observe the night. What happens is that everyone is inflated by feelings of intense expectation and anticipation at the beginning. Everyone is jovial and laughing. As the night wears on, the false platform of their happiness becomes exposed. Failing to achieve the ultimate satisfying experience that their perception of Friday or Saturday night promised them, they become angry. If you are not immersed in your own experience, and simply watch the overall situation you see – at some point around midnight, things change. The mood becomes ugly. Couples are arguing, people are brawling – tortured screams and shouting fill the air. I have seen it in five countries now - my sixth opportunity is coming tomorrow. It is not a social thing, it a characteristic of the material energy, of material consciousness. Krishna describes it in Bhagavad-gita: The mode of passion degenerates into the mode of ignorance. First comes contemplation of material pleasure, then attraction, then attachment, then frustration and anger, when matter and material arrangements fail to deliver happiness, a function of consciousness, of spiritual energy.
Most devotees are asleep. My friend Dharmaraj is still up, finishing his chanting. He has a lot of work in the restaurant in the day. We talk a little, and then I take rest. I am very tired. I had four hours sleep last night, and today I got a lot of sun. I am sore when I lie down. The party is in the floor across the street from ours. All the windows are open on our side, and on theirs. We can’t close them – it’s just too damned hot. It is like we are at the party too. The salsa goes on loudly until 4am, and then it’s time to get up. Lucky I’m not a materialist, or I might be pretty disappointed with my Saturday night. Actually I’m in ecstasy.
