I was going through some old files from my time in Peru, and found this little joke I made up one day. It’s just a lot of free association of the current news of the time with my recent experiences travelling through LA that year. It would have been late 2001 or early 2002 when I wrote this.

There are also a lot of other files about values based education and preaching stategies - don’t worry, I wasn’t just day dreaming about wild movie plots while I was there.

The launch last Sunday of the “Hare Krishna Jihad” in the western world headquarters of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON) in Los Angeles went almost unnoticed, including by those present. When asked for his comment, Chris Alperton (53), a regular visitor to the Sunday feast, replied: “I didn’t pay much attention to the class, but this sweet rice sure is good. I just hope that they keep serving it out.”

According to Hare Krishna temple spokesman Nirantara Das, that’s exactly what they intend doing. “Hitler had it wrong,” he states emphatically, with the intense glare of a fanatic. “The true Aryan concept of warfare includes a half-time where the combatants get together for a sacred lunch.”

When questioned during the announcement by one member of the press how they can derive the instruction for their Jihad from the Bhagavad-gita, the same book that Gandhi based his non-violence movement of the 1930s on, temple spokesman Svarupa Das replied: “That just goes to show you how fanatics can screw any meaning out of a bonafide religious tradition,” referring to Gandhi. “That’s what happens when you study books without the guidance of a guru.”

The Hare Krishna Jihad is based on a self-described fundamentalist interpretation of the Bhagavad-gita, a “divine revelation” that the members of the Hare Krishna movement are the true Aryan race, and a secret message that some members claim to hear when recorded tapes of their guru are played backwards that says, “Secure your place in heaven, by sending an infidel to hell.”

And here lies the first problem with the Hare Krishna Jihad. Although temple members have indicated that they will travel to the Middle East as the logical place to carry out their holy war, they have been unable, as yet, to announce who they will be waging it against, because, as Das puts it, “Krishna loves ‘em all.” However, he adds, that’s the least of his worries right now, the foremost being the internal debate over whether a change from the order’s traditional orange robes to camouflage ones represents a break with the tradition.

The Hare Krishnas are not known as the most aggresive people, but Svarupa Das doesn’t see that as a problem as they are “prepared to do anything for Krishna.” Michel Miterrand (17), a young recruit who travelled from France by bus and boat to join the rapidly forming ISKCON International Coalition, describes his “battle ready” status: “The other day I stepped on a bug, and I felt very bad. But then I chanted Hare Krishna to it, and I felt better.”

Ready or not, Miterrand has joined the rest of the international movement’s would-be jihadis stranded in the Los Angeles temple. Having saved enough money from incense sales to participate in the bulk ticket sale that ISKCON has negotiated with Vaikuntha Airlines, as a member of the Hare Krishnas, he, along with other members of groups that solicit donations, is banned from entering the Los Angeles International Airport, a measure the airport put into place after September 11. Miterrand isn’t phased however. As he explains, with a dreamy gaze and a smile: “Krishna is all-powerful.”

A spokesman for the LAX Airport Authority said that the ban was a general measure, and was not a specific response to the recently launched Hare Krishna jihad. A source in the State Department confirmed that the Department would review the Hare Krishnas for inclusion in their list of terrorist organizations if it was warranted.

So far the response has been muted, and it appears that the Hare Krishnas have a little more work to do internally before they are truly ready to launch a coordinated holy war, but in the meantime, the after-dinner conversation in the Los Angeles temple has changed from whose guru is better to the more down-to-earth topic of the relative merits of the AK-47 over the M16.

If you can remain brahmacari in Sao Paulo or Rio De Janeiro for six months, you can remain brahmacari for life…

This a harinam on the beach in Miraflores, Lima, Peru. That’s me on the far right, and Vrajadhama next in line.

While I was in Lima, Peru, I had a radio show twice a week (in Spanish), Tuesdays and Thursdays from 6.00 pm - 7.00 pm on a community AM radio station. The show was donated to me by a man by the name of Francisco Talledo. He rang the temple and asked for someone to come on his show. I rounded up some support and went over. We did kirtan (music and chanting) live to air in the studio, and discussed Krishna Consciousness with Francisco. He liked it so much that he asked us to come back again, and then proposed giving us the whole show two days a week, to do with as we willed.

Here is a link to a page publicizing the show (the site is obviously a little out of date).

Unfortunately I don’t have any recordings of the show, but here are some mp3s of my program’s jingle:

Intro 1
Intro 2
Intro 3

Here are a couple of devotees (Amala Saci dd on the left) on the South American Bustour, a dynamic preaching program organized by Ekanath Gaura Prabhu. The website of the bus tour, with photos and videos, is here.

That Teachings of Prahlad Maharaja in the picture was the first publication that we produced in the BBTI Andino division after arriving in Peru, and that was how our son Prahlad got his name. Whatever you meditate on, you get.

Here is Ekanath Gaura das in the restaurant in La Paz, Bolivia. Now that’s a Pizza.

The first time I met Ekanath it was in the temple in Av. Garcilaso de la Vega, Lima, Peru. Unbeknownst to him I was following a vegan diet, which obviously precluded such things as pizza (I did it for a month, as I have on occasions, following a doctor’s recommendation).

Ekanath sat down next to me in the temple and started to preach the glories of pizza. He then recounted to me how one gentleman would visit the temple in Buenos Aires (in Argentina, where Ekanath hails from orginally), who was a vegan. Whenever the devotees would have pizza, this gentleman would have some - with no cheese!

“That’s blasphemous!” pronounced Ekanath, his lips curling in disgust. I didn’t know what to say. I just hoped that he wasn’t going to wind up by inviting me to the temple restaurant for a pizza…

I think that Ekanath’s got a good point. A healthy zest and love for life is essential for a balanced person. Being a devotee is not about all the things you can’t do - it’s about all the things you can do for Krishna.

The South America Bustour program that Ekanath has been leading for the past two years is a great manifestation of this, drawing out the many talents of the devotees in Peru, Ecuador and Bolivia.

Camp: Peruvian / Ecuadorian border
Dateline: April / May, 2001

It’s 21 degrees and I feel cold. I’m wearing my jumper. If it were 21 degrees in New Zealand, it would be a hot day. Everything is relative though. The sacred literature of India explains that even though beings on other planets and planes of material existence live for time spans that are measured in thousands or millions of our years, their relative experience of that time is equal to our own. Ants live a full life of sense gratification in a matter of days. A beggar can become as morose losing 10 cents as a rich man can losing $10,000 dollars. It is 7am, and we are travelling through the countryside of Peru. When we got on the bus yesterday afternoon in Ecuador, it was 39 degrees.

Peru is a lot poorer than Ecuador. Looking at the countryside, which for the most part consists of a barren desert wasteland, I can understand why Peru entered into a limited armed conflict (some call it a war) with Ecuador in 1998 over territory. After that conflict, Ecuador was practically halved in size, and Peru ended up with some land where you can actually grow something. Driving through Ecuador we passed mile after mile of banana plantations, dotted with shanties of wildly different architectures, materials, and levels of opulence. One thing they all had in common though, was that whether their windows were of tinted glass, or simply a hole in the wall, they all had bars over them.

The bus is very comfortable. It is like being on a plane in many ways, but the seats are more comfortable, as the journey takes over 24 hours. It is a Volvo Marco Polo, very new – two stories with a stewardess. Travelling to a different country by bus is a new and pretty strange experience for me.

Going through the border on the Ecuadorian side at about 5:30pm was pretty easy. The bus stopped, we all got out and walked over to the National Police Immigration office and presented our passports. The officer behind the desk stamped them and we got back on. The bus continued on into the Ecuadorian border town of Huayquillas. We drove through a crowded market where the vendors had to pull their big metal-framed umbrellas protecting their wares from the elements out of the way to let us pass. I looked down on to the street from my second story vantage point and saw one vendor counting out change. He had American dollars, the standard currency in Ecuador, and he had other notes too, which I took to be Peruvian Nuevos Soles. The streets were jam packed with people, going both ways. As I looked around, I could imagine that people here would have been pretty nervous during the 1998 conflict, situated as they are right on the border with Peru, which consists of a river with a bridge over it.

We passed through Huayaquillas, travelling out on Avenida de la Repubica del Peru. On the other side we drove around the corner and were confronted with what is a familiar sight in Peru - barren, brown sandy earth. As we lumbered toward the non-descript bridge that constitutes the demarcation between the two nations, nimble little taxis consisting of the front of a motorcycle with a tricycle cart arrangement welded on the back darted around us. For some reason the whole thing reminded me of Star Wars, from the Anchorage style border town to the desert setting. The little taxis were just like the spaceships zipping in and out of the Anchorage port. On the other side we travelled for a while before arriving at the Peruvian border control post. It looks to me like it would be very easy to enter the country without passing through border control, as long as you didn’t have a lot of luggage to carry. Your average tourist probably couldn’t do it, but it certainly looks possible.

At the border control office, as we exited the bus, we were greeted by a group of people who were assisting the new arrivals, guiding them to the right building. “Hare Krishma!” they said, just as Dharmaraj in Guayaquil had told us a lot of people did. In Guayaquil I had people saying “Hare Krishna” to me in the street, but the response was more muted than in Cuenca. The sense gratification is more intense in Guayaquil, and a large city always breeds more impersonalism. Tokyo was the classic example. I mean how much energy do you have for interactions with people? Not as much as you need to acknowledge everyone in the street in Tokyo, that’s for sure. People end up withdrawing beyond what they would have done anyway, and find themselves alone in a crowd. The difference between interacting with people in the street in Auckland and Wellington in New Zealand has also highlighted the negative impact of super- large urban communities on personal interaction.

We went into the passport office, and were given a form to fill out, but no pen. The immigration people were asking us questions about what religion we were. When we looked around for somewhere to fill it out, we saw two of our friends taking up the only spaces at the bench for filling it out. They gestured us over, smiling. “Come on! Come on!” We went over and they took our forms from us, filling them out. At the same time, a man standing in the door began to offer to change money for us. Time was short, as the bus had pulled out smartly at the Ecuadorian border control post. The whole experience was quite bewildering. I was trying to make appropriate judgements, but I realised that there were too many new factors for me to be able to assess everything in the limited time I had. My form was being filled out - maybe I had some time. “What’s the exchange rate?” I asked. “Tres y cincuenta por uno dollar.” Three point five soles for one dollar. “It said three thirty in the guide book,” offered Vrajadhama.

“Okay, we’ll just change $10 here then, so we have money for a taxi or whatever if we need it when we get to Lima.” I wanted to change my money in a bank, not on the street. At the same time, we needed some local currency. I had a feeling that either we wouldn’t be able to use our US dollars, or else that using them would see us being ripped off even more. I stepped outside and met the man who did the exchange. I gave him ten dollars, and he punched figures into his calculator, showing me the result. “30 soles, fifty centavos.” Inside the immigration people were calling me over to the desk. He quickly counted the money out and gave it to me. Something didn’t feel right. Shouldn’t it be 35 soles? I grabbed my passport and form from the youth who had filled it out and took it over to the desk. The passport control officer asked me: “Travelling through in transit?” “No, quiero estar en Peru por noviente dias.” (No, I want to be in Peru for 90 days). He grunted and wrote 90 days on my visa, and handed my passport back.

As I got up to leave, one of the other immigration officers asked me if I had any incense. Many of the devotees live here by selling incense that some of the devotees bring back from India. I told him that I had none and then went outside. I was still trying to calculate how much I should have received in the exchange. My math was rusty, the use of the calculator shook my confidence in my own ability, and the whole situation was overwhelming. I was sure that those two guys had slipped away with my ten dollars, but no, they were standing outside. Perhaps thinking that I wanted to exchange more money, they came over to me as I approached them. I began to question them about the exchange rate. The man with the calculator began to do the calculation again. I looked closely at his calculator. It had the numbers worn off the buttons. I watched very closely, and saw as he punched in 3.050. “No! You said tres y cincuenta, not tres y cinco!” “Tres y cinco, mas o menos,” he said.

The youth who had filled out my form showed up, with his friends. “Fifty cents, fifty cents,” he said. “What for?” “For filling out your form.” “No dijiste nada antes” (You didn’t say before) I said. A crowd formed around us. Would they get hostile? I didn’t think I’d get my money back. It looked like we had been ripped. I ignored the youth for now, and demanded: “I want to change back!” The stewardess from the bus showed up and began to say something in rapido Spanish. I pulled out the money I had been given and thrust it back at the man. He took it, and began to count out Peruvian money again. I grabbed at my two American five-dollar bills in his hand and began to pull. “Hey, hey, no, no!” he said, and everyone became a little tense. He gave me another ten-dollar note, and I scratched it, as I had seen shopkeepers do with my money, to ascertain if it was a cheap imitation, which would smudge. It was bona fide. He counted out thirty-five soles and handed it to me. I gave him back the ten dollars, and we rushed out of the terminal. The youth was still with me. I gave him 10 US cents. “No, no, fifty cents, fifty cents is one sole,” he pleaded. At 3.5 soles to a dollar, one sole is about 30 cents in actuality. I gave him another 10 cents. “La proxima vez, digas antes,” (Next time, say first) I told him as we boarded the bus. Probably if he did say something beforehand, he wouldn’t get any business. He obviously makes his living this way, from tourists travelling through, who can undoubtedly afford to give him 50 cents for his service. Hey, I could have afforded to give him 50 cents, but after the whole scene I wasn’t feeling too well disposed.

Earlier, in Ecuador, I was coaching Vrajadhama about how to deal with people at places like this. “Don’t take anything from anyone without establishing how much it will cost in advance,” I told him. “These people make their living out of looking like they want to help you, and then ripping you off.” Even with this realisation, the whole set-up at the immigration office was so well choreographed that we were sucked right in. Next time we’ll be doubly cautious. Having said this, we got off lightly. I’m sure that if the same thing had happened to us in Ecuador, we wouldn’t have gotten our money back from the money changer, and the youth and his crowd would have been heavier about the fifty cents. We were cornered by a crowd late at night in Guayaquil after engaging a porter to carry our bags without negotiating a price first. To carry them 20 meters on his cart he wanted $1. In Cuenca, we had paid 25 cents for the same service. When I resisted this exorbitant charge, we were immediately surrounded by a hostile crowd. “Never take anything without first establishing the price,” I cautioned Vrajadhama. We hadn’t engaged the youths in filling out forms, so our position was a little better this time. It’s hard to tell what is normal, what is official and what is just a scam when you don’t know anything, and that’s what these people play on. Live and learn, I guess.

In Lima, we’ll just tell anyone and everyone to back off, and wait it out until the devotees arrive to pick us up. If they don’t, we’ll have to hunt down a taxi and bargain a fare. I have some strategies for this. One is to engage a taxi by myself, without our luggage, and then pick it up. The other is for both Vrajadhama and I to talk to different taxi drivers and call out our prices, forcing the assembled taxi drivers to tender for our fare. We probably can’t do the second one because we have to keep the entire luggage under our control. The advice we received was this – get a porter to help you with your luggage, and once it’s on his cart, keep your hand on it.

Two pieces of advice about Lima I received in Ecuador were these: “En Lima, mucho cuidado! Hay muchas ladrones” (In Lima, be very careful, there are many robbers!), and “Lima – infierno! Wow!”

We’ll see what Krishna has in store for us here.

Bhakti Tirtha Swami in Chosica temple, outside of Lima, Perú, in 2002. Tha’s Laxman das to his right,and Javier to the left. Javier gave me a beautiful picture he drew of Srila Prabhupada, which we have on our altar here in the ashram.

Here’s another photo of the kirtan, which was midday on a Sunday.

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.

Camp: Cuenca, Ecuador
Dateline: April / May 2001

I know a secret about South America.

In 1978 or thereabouts, the mighty Datsun motor company underwent restructuring, and was reborn as Nissan. What happened then was that there were a whole lot of Datsun cars that had been built, but were no longer marketable. So they were all shipped off to a huge facility somewhere in Ecuador, from whence they have been sold for the past 20 odd years. No, I’m not joking, it has to be something like that, because there are more Datsuns here than any other car, and what’s more, a lot of them look like they are new. I have never seen so many Datsuns in my life. It’s like a dream for me. I have to confess, that I was always a Datsun man. My first car was a Datsun 1200, and I stuck with them right up until I joined the devotees and “renounced” my 1979 Mark I 280ZX sports coupe. No 280ZX’s here, but plenty of 120Ys, 140Js and 160Js. While discussing our options in getting Lima, Vrajadhama and I tossed around the pros and cons of buying a Datsun and driving there. I think the main pro was the fact that I always wanted a 70’s two-door 120Y with mags, like many of the ones here. That was until we found out that one of those babies is worth a cool US$2K. The economy is warped here, such that it isn’t possible to draw comparisons between things. Some things are ridiculously cheap, others ridiculously expensive. Our guide book is a year old, and the bus fares and rents have doubled since then.

Vrajadhama and I joked about knocking over some Seguridad guys for their guns, hotwiring a Datsun, and going on a spree to Lima. We thought it would make a great premise for a hit comedy – two young Hare Krishna missionaries go to South America to preach, and end up going on a cross-country spree in stolen Datsuns. It would bring a whole new meaning to the phrase: “Hey prabhu, got any rounds left?” Then we realised that probably only 0.01% of the planet would get the irony of the whole thing, and it would be full of in-jokes. We are probably going to catch the bus to Lima, instead - a 21-hour ordeal. Everyone will be ripping us off along the way too. When you are carrying as much gear as we are (the mrdangas, our drums, double our load) you look like a pair of gringos who should be ripped off. We are not looking forward to the border crossing into Peru and the inevitable money exchange. Hopefully we don’t get robbed blind. I mean, we are going to be robbed, as we have been everywhere we go. We paid $6 for a taxi from the airport to the temple in Guayaquil. Do you know how much money $6 is here? You can eat for a week on that. But anyway, once we get to Lima we can store some of the gear. We brought everything that we thought we would need to live here and develop the mission over successive years, building it up. The staples of life here are quite cheap, but if you want to actually do anything, such as put on a festival, you’ll need either a whole lot of money, or you’ll need to bring your gear with you.

Here is a photo from Sig Sig, Ecuador. Vrajadhama and I went out here for the market day before leaving the Cuenca / Azuay region to return to Guayaquil on our way to Peru.

This is the other cathedral facing onto Parque Calderon. Every day the steps of this cathedral are filled with persons selling all manner of religious paraphenalia. Vrajadhama bought me a Divino Nino (that n should have a squiggle over it, but my Spanish keyboard is at home) from there. There is a shop near the cathedral that sells paraphenalia for Divino Ninos. There are all different sizes, and they sell sets of clothes for them.

Here is the old cathedral. There are two cathedrals facing onto Parque Calderon, the central plaza of Cuenca. Since Vraja and I were there in 2001 Parque Calderon has undergone a total renovation. When we last visited there in 2003 it had been extensively remodelled into beautiful landscaped gardens. While we were there learning Spanish it was quite simple, and you could sit on the grass, which we sometimes did as we chanted. Now it is all landscaped gardens and you can only sit on the benches.

This is the Rio Tomebamba in Cuenca, Ecuador. I wrote a diary entry while I was there entitled: “Sita-pati’s Guide to River Washing”, but I can’t find it now. I watched the women washing their clothes in the river and laying them out to dry on the river bank each day, and thought I would give it a go.

It took quite a while, and I wasn’t very good at it, but it was peaceful and honest, purifying and pacifying.

Camp: Cuenca / Sigsig, Ecuador
Dateline: April, 2001

Taking the bus is an interesting affair here. The first step is to get to the bus terminal. A local urban service bus will take you there for 14c.

We managed to get a ride with Madre Radharani to the terminal, so we avoided having to walk to a bus route and take a bus from there. After being dropped off we made our way to the aisle where the bus for Sigsig leaves from. On the way we were accosted by a drunk man who spent one night singing and salsa’ing in Harinam with us. He is a big friend of mine and can talk to me for hours, even though I can’t understand a word he says. A strategic “Si”, a smile and a nod of the head goes a long way, I’ve noticed. We held a conversation for about ten minutes, even though I couldn’t understand a thing he was saying. I used the opportunity to practice my lines. After a minute or two, one of the terminal security guards came over, checking out if he was a bum hassling some tourists.

Here at the terminal the security guards have the best profile. This guy had jet black skin, and was dressed totally in black, looking like a commando from the G.I. Joe series. He had a revolver in a holster with six more bullets on the outside, a bullet proof vest, and a long baton. After we embraced our friend and headed into the terminal we remained the centre of attention, dressed in our robes and wearing tilak on our faces.

Everywhere we go people stare at us. Some, recognising us, will greet us with “Hare Krishna” or just “Hare Hare!” We got to the bus and wrote our names on the sheet that the guy had, then got on board. The buses here are run by cooperatives, exactly how they function i don’t know, but they look like they buy their buses second hand from the States, and they usually are named after a date, as half of everything here, from streets to shops, is.

The way the bus works is that there are two people. One is the driver, who drives and pulls the chain that activates the horn. The other is a teenaged boy who opens the door, stows the gear, pulls people on board and collects the fares. The bus will stop anywhere. To get off, you call out “Gracias!” when you are where you want to go. To get on, you flag the bus down on the road and leap aboard as it slows down. The bus is constantly stopping to pick people up. The boy pulls them aboard and calls out “Vamos!” (Let’s go!) when they are half in. The driver then speeds back up. Everyone just packs in and sits or stands wherever they can. We always present a problem, as we are usually carrying bags and mrdangas when we travel, which are awkward. I mean - it’s packed, and people are coming on and off all the time.

When the bus gets going, someone starts up with a sales pitch. It’s usually biscuits, or manjar, dulce de leche, which is a burfi that you can buy in shops here. I can remember seeing somewhere that Srila Prabhupada said that anything made with milk is always pure. I hope so, because I have to admit that we’ve eaten some - and it was damned good! However, we’ve laid off after our spanish teacher taught us the word “las lombrices”. Las lombrices are these nice worms that live in your intestines and eat what you eat, growing up to seven metres in length!

They are endemic here, and you get them by eating things prepared or handled by a person who is infected and who doesn’t wash their hands (everyone here is at least a risk). The way to get rid of them is to fast for a day or so until they get hungry, then sit in (or over, my spanish isn’t that precise, and i hope i never have to find out) a bowl of hot milk and wait for them to poke their head out for a snack. When they do you grab ‘em and pull ‘em out. Our spanish teacher has had one, and there are rumours that one of the devotees here is da man!

The buses sometimes pass through a checkpoint. Policia in their grey striped urban camoflague combat fatigues flag the bus down. There are four of them, all wearing bullet proof vests and two toting automatic rifles. We constantly wonder why there is so much firepower and combat gear everywhere, from seguridad to policia. It is not unusual to see two policia riding a motorcycle, wearing combat helmets, the one on the back packing an M-16 or AK-47. I’m wondering where they sell these bullet proof vests….

People are always looking us, and are very attracted to the mrdanga. We are trying to get “Hare Krishna” painted on them, to increase the nectar. When we got to Chordeleg we got off the bus to look for a new bag for Vrajadhama. We had heard that Saturday was the big day in Chordeleg, so we were thinking about some Harinam action. We got off the bus into an empty street. The only thing missing were the tumbleweeds. Once the bus left, the street was silent. We sat down on a bench and opened a pack of plaintain chips before deciding what to do. The sky was overcast, and the white stone roading cast a bright glare. We looked around. There were plenty of shops, they were open, and they looked they were positioned for tourists. Most were selling “Joyeria” (Jewellery?) Plenty of 18K gold. I thought about buying some gold earrings to give to Param Satya, and considered that it was the thought that counted. After a while on the seat, Vrajadhama said: “I know, let’s wait for a break in the traffic and make a bolt for the other side of the road.”

We sauntered around the shops for a while and Vrajadhama got a nice new bag. Pretty much all the shops were selling exactly the same things. It was a quiet day in sleepy hollow in Chordeleg.

We grabbed the next bus onward and headed off, toward la finca del Hare Krishna, the Hare Krishna farm and temple. There is no temple in Cuenca. The temple is situated on a farm about an hour out of town by bus. The ride costs 80c each way. We rode to the farm and jumped off.

The farm is situated at the confluence of two rivers. The part of it on one side of the road is about two or three football fields. I don’t know how big the whole thing is, but this is the section being cultivated by Mrdanga das, who lives on the farm with his wife, Ana, and two young children, Gopal Govinda Shyamasundara and Krishna Shakti. The temple is a beautiful dome shaped building with two wooden ashrams upstairs.

I was immediately agitated on arrival, due to the tranquility of the place. “I work best in emergency situations,” i told Vrajadhama. “Wake me when there’s an emergency or a festival.” After a while I caught up with the speed of the place and took some time to study Espanola. Vrajadhama spent a couple of hours playing guitar in the temple room. The temple room is a beautiful marble laid room with golden neem carved deities of Gaura-Nityananda, two of the pentuple incarnation of god who started the modern Hare Krishna movement. Srila Prabhupada would say: “The impersonalists say that God is not a person, and in this incarnation God appears as five people at once, just to show them that without a doubt He is a person, and more of a person than they could even imagine!”

The farm and temple is “muy lindo”, a phrase that you hear often in conversations about it that means “very beautiful”. However, it is deserted. The devotees in town are too busy with their families and economic development to come out, and there is only one family living here now. There was an evening arati ceremony in the temple, that i missed, and we had dinner with Mrdanga. It consisted of the produce of the farm, including fresh bread cooked by Ana.

One other devotee, Bhakti-vilasa from Columbia (who met Emerson there for those of you that means anything to), was staying as well. He is helping Mrdanga and learning how to farm, as he has some land in Columbia that he wants to develop.

Afterwards we talked late into the night. It was very hard for me to understand what Mrdanga was saying, as he is Chilean, and I have only learned to decipher the native accent and dialect. However, he kept saying things like Krishna, Srimati Radharani, and Lord Caitanya, that reassured me, and I was happy to listen to him talk, and he was happy to talk. It must be lonely for him there, with no devotee association. It takes a lot of purity and simplicity to live in the simply environment of a Hare Krishna farm. This inner simplicity and calm is a byproduct of that which we are aiming for with our spiritual practice, love of God. This is in direct contrast with modern society with its emphasis on love of the body and all the temporary things in relation to it. The passionate, agitating music in the internet cafe that i am typing this in is a good example.

The next morning Vrajadhama got me up by getting up at 4:30am. I had woken up at 2am, but was too lazy to get up. We take turns at being the first up and thereby getting the other up, not by design, but by some mystical arrangement.

After showering and dressing, we went downstairs to perform our morning spiritual practice in the temple. We chanted japa, a form of meditation on the Holy Names of the Lord, for a couple of hours, then i read out loud from the Spanish version of Bhagavad-gita, until the program started at 7am.

There were four of us there: Vrajadhama, Bhakti-vilasa, Mrdanga, and myself. I lead the singing of the morning prayers, and Mrdanga performed the worship ceremony of the Deity.

Deity worship can be perceived as a weird thing in the West, which is predominantly Protestant Christian, if anything. It was the one thing that I had some resistance to when i became involved in the Hare Krishna movement. The old injunctions about “worshipping idols” went deep. However, people are rendering service in so many ways to so many things. Worshipping the television, giving their full and undivided attention to it, worshipping their car by washing it and pampering it.

The Lord is present everywhere, as everything is his energy. He is aware of everything. In this way, by rendering some service to him through his energy in such a way that the devotion is meant for him, he knows. He can see: “This is meant for me”, and he accepts it. In the Bhagavad-gita Krishna says, “If one offers me with love and devotion even a leaf, a fruit, a flower, or some water, i am pleased to accept it.” Anything is acceptable, as long as it is offered with love and devotion. Our love and devotion are the only things we have to offer to the Lord - everything else here is already his.

Here is Ecuador people do not have a cultural conditioning against Deity worship, in fact, quite the opposite is the case. Ecuador is very Catholic, and there are altars everywhere, even in the middle of a market selling meat there will be one with a statue of Jesus or mother Mary and candles burning there. There are roadside altars all along the road. When the bus passes them, passengers make the sign of the cross. I’m not a big fan of the statues of Jesus on the cross, with their vivid depiction of his wounds and suffering, but I am rather fond of a form I had not seen before, El Divino Nino, the divine child, Jesus as a child with blond hair, wearing a pink robe with his arms upraised in the air. He looks like a young Nimai, Lord Caitanya as a child. He is very beautiful and attractive.

After a breakfast that included Cedron tea (a local herb), pure honey and bread, all from the farm, Vrajadhama and I continued on to Sigsig. Apparently Sunday is the big market day, and we wanted to check the place out before we leave for Lima, Peru, via Guayaquil, next week.

We flagged down the bus and rode to Sigsig. The country side was lush and green, and we rode along a sharp drop to the river below. The buildings throughout the country side were a mix of uncompleted stone houses, made with the standard concrete bricks we have in the West, with people living in them already, and adobe huts that were in many cases deteriorating to reveal the wooden frames that constitute them.

OK, Sigsig. I’m going to have to cut it short here, as i am running out of time.

The place was packed, and everywhere we went we were the centre, and i mean the centre of attention. We walked into a large market and it was like the scene where the two guys walk into the bar and the record screeches to a halt and everyone turns to look at them. I have some realisations about this phenomena, but i’ll have to share them later.

We joked that it was Vrajadhama’s new bag, which was obviously for tourists only. “Man, do i feel like a freak show!” I said to Vrajadhama. “What about that guy over there on the tray, I bet he feels like a freak show.” I looked over and saw a whole pig steaming on a platter, one of just several we saw. We went over and looked at it and just laughed at the whole situation. “Smoking!” Vrajadhama said as steam rose from the pig’s mouth. I tried to imagine people in New Zealand buying a chunk of the side of one of these, and couldn’t really picture it. There was also a guy selling chicks from a big box of them on the side of the road. The place was packed.

Anyway, there is a little bit about the bus and the farm. Hope that everything is well with everyone in New Zealand, Australia, the U.S, and where ever else this is going.

God bless,

Camp: Cuenca, Ecuador
Date: April, 2001

Two great things about speaking Spanish here - numero uno: I can’t talk about nonsense things with anyone. My vocabulary is limited to the necessities of life, and is stretched in dealing with that. Other than this, the only other things I can express are basic theological and philosophical concepts. After exchanging names and places of origin, the conversation usually flounders until I falteringly deliver a few of my concepts that I have been able to express in my quickly developing Espanol. The conversation often becomes half language class for both of us - most people here know a little English and are keen to learn more. They are also happy to help out a struggling Gringo with his command of the local idioma. I was standing outside a home program the other night, rejoicing that I just can’t talk nonsense with anyone, because I practically can’t talk to anyone, anyway! What a benediction.

Numero dos is closely related. Because I can only express basic concepts, I am constantly meditating on basic concepts, and discovering that Krishna Consciousness is indeed simple for the simple and complex for the complex. Our Spanish teacher, Dalia, is a great help. She has friends who are devotees and is very open to Krishna Consciousness. She doesn’t mind working through philosophy discussions with me in Spanglish, the mix of Spanish and English we communicate in at the school, in order to help me come out with something I can give to others.

Usually I’ll approach people during Harinam while the other devotees are chanting, or when the chanting stops I’ll address the crowd of people that invariably forms, sometimes as strong as 40 or 50 people. People here are very open minded and very pious. They come and stand and watch when the devotees are chanting and are happy to talk about what we are doing. I had read about Visnujana Swami and other devotees addressing the crowds that used to form in the 70’s. We were in Los Angeles last week (it seems like a year ago), and we went out on Harinam four times in four days - twice to Santa Monica Boulevard and twice to the newly renovated Venice Beach. Jaya Gouranga, the brahmacari leader (head of the young monks), would give a brief speech between the chanting, although in LA there is a more subdued response. It was an amazingly powerful method of communicating what the whole thing was about, I thought, and I have been inspired to try the same thing myself. Here are my lines thus far:

Cantamos los santos nombres de Dios, el Senor Supremo. El nombre “Krishna” significa lo mas atractivo. Dios es lo mas atractivo, entonces uno de Sus nombres es Krishna.

“We are chanting the Holy Names of God, the Supreme Lord. The name “Krishna” means ‘the most attractive’. God is the most attractive, therefore one of His names is Krishna.”

Canten Hare Krishna, y sean felices!

“Chant Hare Krishna and be happy!”

‘Hare’ significa el aspecto femenino del Dios. ‘Krishna’ significa el aspecto masculino del Dios. El Dios es los dos, masculino y femenino, entonces ‘Hare Krishna’ es la oracion mas completa.

“‘Hare’ refers to the feminine aspect of the Supreme Lord. ‘Krishna’ refers to the masculine aspect. God is composed of both masculine and feminine aspects, therefore the Hare Krishna maha-mantra is the most complete prayer.”

Krishna es la Suprema Personalidad de Dios. Dios es una persona. El tiene forma, activo, nombres, y mucho mas.

“Krishna is the Supreme Personality of Godhead. God is a person. He has a form, activities, names, and much more.”

And in order to explain just who Krishna is to the predominantly Catholic people here, who often ask about the relationship between Krishna and Jesus:

Jesus dice ‘Yo soy el hijo de Dios.” Krishna es Dios. Jesus es hijos de Krishna, Krishna es el padre de Jesus.

“Jesus says: ‘I am the son of God.’ Krishna is God. Jesus is the son of Krishna, Krishna is the father of Jesus.”

Todo viene de Krishna. Por eso todo pertenece a Krishna. Entonces todo debe ser utilizado para el servicio de Krishna. Eso es vida espiritual.

“Everything comes from Krishna, and so everything belongs to Krishna. Therefore, everything should be used for Krishna’s service - that is spiritual life.”

No sooner had I finished composing this line than a young man literally ran up to me in the street yelling: “Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna! Tienes los libros Hare Krishna? (Do you have any Hare Krishna books?)” After some discussion he made a half-joking comment in his broken English about my not having a telephone, because it was “material life”. (Yeah, that’s material life in Ecuador - the building we are staying in has no phone service). This is a common misconception that people hold, that this world is “material” and so should be renounced by those who are following a “spiritual” path.

The sacred literature of the Gaudiya Vaisnava tradition tells us something else. This world comes from God and it belongs to Him. The only thing material here is the mentality with which we approach the manifested energy of the Supreme - “This is mine, and it’s for me!” It is our consciousness and the way that it manifests that is “material”. This world is not alien, we are.

I delivered my line to him (reading it from my school notebook) and he immediately connected with it. So simple - and yet so profound. Actually the credit for this philosophical piece de resistance goes to Rupa Goswami, the 16th century saint and one of the founders of the modern Hare Krishna movement. A contemporary saintly person, who is a great inspiration to me, once said that for those who are on the path to perfection the purpose of preaching is to repeat what they have been told time after time, in the hope that maybe by hearing it from their own mouth they’ll finally get the message.

There is much to be said about getting back to basics to make sure that you actually got the first lesson. That’s my realisation from all this, and I am profoundly grateful for the opportunity to do just that. If I hadn’t come here to this foreign land, I might have remained in my illusion that I had so far understood something about spiritual life.

Camp: Cuenca, Ecuador
Date: April, 2001

Today I am sick.

Our program has been so intense that it is no wonder. After our hectic travel to arrive in Cuenca at 9 o’clock at night, we had no time to rest, but began our Spanish classes at 8am sharp the following day. After class finishes at 1pm we walk through the narrow streets between the colonial architecture of Cuenca to the intersection of Juan Marillo and Presidente Borrero, to Govinda’s Restaurante Vegetariano and Pizza Goura, a restaurant run by devotees. Lunch, which consists of a three course buffet meal that costs punters US$1, usually takes us 45 minutes to an hour. We use the time to try to organise a game plan for the rest of the day. We don’t have to pay for our meals, as the devotees here are supporting us.

Struggling to get one thing done a day

We can usually afford to do one thing in the afternoon. Life moves at a leisurely pace here in Ecuador anyway, and our lack of knowledge of the locale and the language makes everything an endeavour. An afternoon’s task might be to find a shop that sells toothpaste and buy some, to find a barber to have our heads shaved, or to check our email.

We usually drop by Rama Travel, the office of Prabhu Yudhistira, the devotee who is in charge of taking care of us. Here we can hang out, ask for help or information and store our gear in the city. Then at 5pm we head up to Parque Calderon, the central park of the city and begin chanting. This goes on until around 7:30pm when we are bundled off by taxi or car to the evening’s program.

Every night the devotees of Cuenca meet at one of their homes to sing, read and discuss the scriptures, and share a meal of prasadam, spiritually sanctified food. There is no temple in Cuenca. Apparently there is a temple on a farm 45 minutes from Cuenca, but this is much too far for the devotees to travel each day, so they have these programs at their homes. The program will usually wind up after prasadam around 10pm. I get to sleep around 11pm.

Giving and accepting prasadam (sanctified food)

The other factor is that everyone wants to feed us. Everywhere we go we are offered food, and large amounts. Refusing anything seems to be impolite in Ecuador. We try to limit what we take, but it adds up. Eating late, taking rest late, being overfed, having no time to rest – it has all taken its toll. Last night I took rest at 2am after taking some time after the program to organise my thoughts. Somewhere I must have ingested something that my body couldn’t deal with, because I awoke this morning at 7:30am and rushed to the bathroom, where I spent the next hour as my body purged itself of anything and everything within it.

It was actually quite fascinating to observe how the body diverts large amounts of water through the digestive tract in order to flush it out. Such intelligence built in – I don’t have to think or do anything, the body’s systems automatically go to work.

Holidays

It’s a good day to be sick. Thursday and Friday are national holidays for Easter, as I understand it. So although we had a class yesterday, we gave Dalia, the teacher, the day off today to spend with her family. She is not particularly religiously inclined, but she wants to take the opportunity to spend time with her family. Society has gotten to such a stage now that simply “spending time with one’s family” is a special thing. It used to be an integral part of everyday in the past. A religious observance was a special thing, an opportunity as a society to make a connection with a higher reality. Now that is fading into obscurity as consumerism increasingly characterises what were once religious observances, along with attempts to make them special by “spending time with the family.”

I’m not saying that there is anything wrong with spending time with the family, it is a very essential thing - but it’s going on in all the species of life, from birds up to apes. What is so special about that? The fact that it is perceived to be something special perhaps points to something amiss in today’s social and economic arrangements. But I digress.

Doing the Washing

After my body had decided that it had either run out of fluids for flushing, or had done enough, I went back to bed in an attempt to be unconscious during the uncomfortable experience of “being sick”. I got up at 1pm and decided to tackle the task of washing before chanting my rounds.

For those of you who were with me in Wellington, you may be surprised to know that not only am I doing my own washing, I’m doing it by hand. There may be washing machines here in Ecuador, but not in your average person’s house in Cuenca. Something else is that there is no hot water cylinder.

Washing is done in cold water, whether it is dishes, clothes, or bodies. I think there is some electric contraption connected to the shower here that is meant to heat the water as it passes through, but it was switched off when we arrived, and we haven’t switched it on. Would you throw the switch for an electric device connected to the shower you are standing under and trust the Sellotape on the wires hooking it up? Anyway, I’m not in a hurry to grace the Darwin Awards with my name.

Hot water cylinders and the cost of convenience

It is an interesting thing. A hot water cylinder, ala every New Zealand home is an incredibly wasteful thing. For starters, you don’t need hot water in the quantities that we use it in New Zealand. We waste a lot of water, and a lot of energy heating the water. Even using the same amount of water, it uses less energy to heat it on demand rather than having a huge tank of heated water just sitting there, awaiting your beck and call.

The price of convenience is high. We often don’t realise how high. Guayaquil was hot, damned hot, but Cuenca is just like New Zealand. It is at a much higher altitude, surrounded by mountains. It gets cold here at night and in the morning. Not as cold as Aro Valley at this time of the year, but still pretty cold. Cold showers are good for the nervous system and skin tone, and also encourage water conservation. You won’t do more than you need to standing under a cold shower.

How do you do this again?

Laundry washing here is accomplished with the assistance of a bucket, a block of “Jabon de Lavar” - solid washing soap, a brush, and a special shallow sink that has a flat tiled surface and a sprinkler-like arrangement along one side for the water. I take the garment in question, wet it with the water, soap it up and then give it a good brush, looking out for parts that need the most attention.

As I do this for the first time, I think about the fact that I didn’t even know how to use a washing machine in New Zealand. Oh sure, you put the washing in and hit go, but what setting do you use, how much soap, what items do you wash together? All these things were as much a mystery to me as the intricacies of tuning mrdanga drums for kirtan are to most people. I try to think about what a washing machine does as I do this, to get some idea of what I should do.

After a little while I start to get the hang of it. The sink was not designed to accommodate a dhoti, the 5-6 metre long cloth that constitutes our lower body garment, but I figure something out. Using the bucket I can wash part of it and keep the rest off the floor. I zero in on the dirtier parts with the brush and give them a good scrubbing. I am using a lot of energy. I wonder how the machine knows where to direct the energy to get clothes so clean, then I realise, the machine doesn’t know. In order to make the cloth as clean as I am making it, it has to put this much energy into every part of the garment. The machine cannot distinguish between the dirtier and less dirty parts as I can. I am using a lot of energy here. How much energy is that machine using?

Saving time or wasting time?

Still, machine-washing saves time, I think. And what do we do with that saved time? Why, we work to pay for a washing machine, or we watch T.V, or surf the Internet, or so many other essential things. Denver comes out and I ask him: “Que pasa? (What’s happening?)” He is going into town to have lunch. I am not eating today. “How’s the washing going”, he asks. “Well, it’s ok, it seems a more honest way to live.” The energy I am using up I am directly paying for. I am getting a realisation about the cost of my existence. How much work does it take to clean my cloth, and where is that energy coming from? I am not alienated from these issues by technological, economic and social arrangements as I was in the West.

Wearing a dhoti every day has given me some realisation of this in the past. We are often quick to explain to people, “Simply wearing this cloth does not make you a devotee. It is an external thing we wear to let people know who we are,” like a corporate uniform in a sense. But this is only part of the story.

Clothes maketh the man

Wearing a dhoti may not make you transcendental, but it does help to make you sattvic, a term denoting a state of consciousness characterised by honesty. After wearing a dhoti every day for a number of months I got a realisation. A dhoti is simply a 5-6 metre long piece of cloth. To get it to do something for your wardrobe, you spend 5-10 minutes every time you put it on folding it like some kind of wearable origami. It takes longer to get dressed than simply throwing on some pants. But if you have to make your clothes, a dhoti will save you a lot of time and effort. I realised that instead of a huge input of time and technology into the creation of a garment such as pants, I was required to expend energy every time I wanted to use the dhoti, and the amount of that energy was directed related to my need and use.

Think about this: When a pair of pants is made, energy and resources are poured into it. This energy represents the convenience for you when you put them on. You don’t need to put energy in, as with a dhoti. The energy has already gone into them somewhere else, and this is what you pay for when you buy pants. A dhoti, on the other hand, has less energy invested in it when created, and requires more energy from you each time you use it. When you use it, you get a real sense of the cost in energy every time. With pants, you don’t really get the sense of what they cost to produce.

Convenience has a cost higher than the energy that would otherwise be expended. If you took all the energy that I use to put my dhoti on during its lifetime, you still won’t have enough to make a pair of pants in the modern way. There is a factory with machines in it. To build the factory and the machine requires more effort. How many pants do you need to make before you start saving energy overall? A whole lot, and where is this energy coming from? We don’t think about this when we put our pants on. They are easy, convenient. Now think about this – when I put my dhoti on, I expend energy. When I don’t put it on, I don’t expend any energy. A pair of pants has all the energy used up in advance, so they cost whether they are being worn or not. We can buy a pair of pants and leave them sitting in our drawers until we throw them out in a clean out. This is called waste.

Waste not, want not

The word karma means energy. The energy expended in an action, and the energy created in the form of reaction. Energy is never created of destroyed, it is simply transformed. All the energy we use has a cost. This is the law of karma, of action and reaction. In the Sri Isopanishad is found the following verse:

Isvasyam idam sarvam
Yat kincat jagat yam jagat
Tena tyaktena bhunjitah
Ma grhdha kasya svid-dhanam

“Everything in the universe is created by and belongs to the Lord. Knowing this, one should accept only that which they need, which has been set aside as his or her quota, knowing full well to whom the rest belongs.”

There is enough to go around

It is explained that there is a sufficient amount of energy allocated for every being in the universe. Srila Prabhupada would always challenge: “Look at the elephant. He is eating 50 kgs of food every day. Where do you think his food is coming from? The Lord is supplying the necessities of life for everybody.” He explained that resource shortage was due to mismanagement only. The population problem is not one of quantity, he explained, but one of quality. There is enough to go around, as long as some don’t take what is intended for others.

When you tell people this, they say: “Of course, for the animals that’s ok, but a person cannot live without working.” This is true. In the Bhagavad-gita Krishna explains this same point. When you tell them that it is not necessary to work for their existence, they immediately think you are advocating a dishonest lifestyle in which you use up energy that you have not paid for. In New Zealand we call it “bludging”.

The ultimate “User Pays” system

How do I explain this: There are two ways to live. One is using one’s karma, or energy, for oneself, the other is to use one’s karma for the service of the Lord. Both are described in the Bhagavad-Gita. In terms of using one’s energy for oneself (we could call it “material life”), when we use technology and artificial social and economic arrangements to leverage things to get more than the energy of our body can pay for, we create an imbalance. There is the right amount to go around. If I get more than my karma allows for, I create a karmic debt that must be repaid. What goes around comes around.

I don’t work a job, I have no money, and yet I have no problem with a roof over my head or enough to eat. In fact quite the opposite – at the moment I have too much to eat! How is this happening? Am I bludging from this world? The Lord is providing everything that I need, and I am using my karma to serve His desires. This is the spiritual way of life - to be content with what the Lord gives of His own accord and to use one’s energy for His service. The material way of life means I misuse my karma, my energy, to try to accrue more to myself.

Illusory Progress

One great saint explained it nicely: We come into this world with nothing, and we think that we are making progress through our life: “Just see what I am getting!” Actually, we are like a person who walks into a bank with nothing and walks out after getting a $10,000 loan. He thinks he is making progress, that he is gaining, but he has simply gone into debt. Our existence here is like that. We think we are going somewhere, but we are just going further and further into debt through our endeavours. The other side of the coin is that by serving the Lord, all one’s expenses are picked up by the company, so to speak.

Live an honest life

If we are going to live in a way that we use our karma, our energy, for ourselves, rather than for the service of the Lord, then we should do it in an honest fashion. This means replacing what we use with the energy of our body. Otherwise the imbalance we see in this world will increase more and more.

The best thing, however, is to use our karma, our energy, in the service of the Lord. In this case, everything is taken care of, but we still are careful to be honest for two reasons. One is to set an example for others. Krishna explains that when he comes to this world he does that Himself. As a result some mistake Him for an ordinary person, but He is not to set a precedent that will be imitated by the foolish. The second reason is that there is no reason to live any other way. We could try to take more, but the Lord is giving us what we need, why shouldn’t we be satisfied with that? We should try to give some, if not all, of our energy to the Lord, because after all, who wants karma anyway?

I finished my washing and hung it out. I think that I will wash every day in future. I heard from my wife how she did it when she lived in Taiwan. What you do is put your clothes each day in the shower with you, and then leave them in a bucket of soapy water overnight. The next day you can brush them if you need to (it’ll be easier than it was for me today – I left mine a day or two dry), rinse them, and hang them out. Theoretically you can live this way with two or three sets of clothes, with maybe an extra one for emergencies. Of course, this doesn’t cater for our artificially inflated perceptions of our “needs”, i.e.: media driven fashions and the need to display one’s opulence to others, but is this what life is about? It’s a personal thing I guess.

Camp: Cuenca, Ecuador
April, 2001

The bus rolls up to the traffic lights, and as it slows down a young boy leaps from it, running as he hits the ground. He reduces his velocity and reverses direction, running around the back of the bus to deposit something into a letterbox on the other side of the road. I watch with bemusement as he races back across the road, dodging cars to catch up with the bus as it lumbers off in a billowing cloud of diesel smoke.

I round the corner and step off the curb into an empty street. A blaring horn jerks me up short, my heart beating at a million miles an hour. Damn - i’ve got to get used to traffic on the right hand side of the road. Every time i cross a street i am disorientated, whenever we drive i am gripping the seat.

I turn down a street that is unpaved, the ground muddy from the week of rain here in Cuenca. Dogs are running freely here. There is one big one who always barks frenetically at me when I pass him, straining against his chain as he tries to get close enough to rip me apart. Today he has somehow broken free from his chain and is roaming at will. I am chanting on my beads and I figure that that is all I can do. Today he seems uninterested in me, preferring instead to pick on a much smaller dog who bears his teeth at him as he lunges. In India the cow is considered a sacred animal, and many cows roam the streets unmolested. Here the sacred animal seems to be the dog. There are dogs everywhere, cute, unfailingly skinny and with pathetic eyes that stare at you. Here, it seems, no one eats dogs. In India it has been the same with cows for many centuries, although i read a disturbing report on the door of the mrdanga (drum) factory in Los Angeles. Apparently meat-eaters have started to round up the cows in the street at night and transport them to factories where they are killed to be eaten and made into leather products. Anything for a buck. Here the local delicacy is cuy, guinea pig. Vrajadhama and I saw a spit of a few in one of the outlying villages last weekend.

I walk along the streets alongside the morning traffic. Clouds of diesel and oil smoke fill the air. Every old datsun that was retired from New Zealand has come here to Ecuador to live out its retirement. Another yellow taxi, the only 1970’s Datsun 120Y with mags I have ever seen being used as a taxi, has fallen in the course of duty. It is a common sight here in Cuenca - the front wheel simply collapses under the car, which comes to a grinding halt. I look underneath to ascertain the problem. I am curious - don’t these guys tighten their wheel nuts? Part of the steering linkage has given way. No doubt the roughly paved cobblestone roads, originally designed for horse-driven carts, play havoc on inner city taxi vehicles.

Along the street are a weird mix of people. Some are dressed in western style clothing and are obviously going to work at a job, others are dressed in traditional Indian clothing. I wonder where they get it from. The women have their black hair in pigtails, their florescent brightly coloured dresses shining like beacons. Some are carrying huge bundles, of things to sell I assume. Others are lying or sitting on the side of the street. Here is a young boy with his eyes rolling in his head. Mucus is flowing out of his nose and down his face. He thrusts his cup out to me and moans something. Maybe it’s Quechua, maybe it’s Spanish - I can’t tell. The intent needs no interpretation to be understood however.

I am reminded of a story I heard, of the great saintly personality Bhaktisiddhanta Sarasvati. While on tour in South India early last century, he was accompanied by some of his house holder disciples. He noticed that they were being approached by beggars, but were not giving anything in charity. Perhaps they were thinking that the spiritual practice they were engaged in was beyond any mundane charity, and they would be better to conserve their resources for this. Whatever the case, Bhaktisiddhanta Sarasvati chastised them, telling them, “If you do not give in charity, you will simply become envious and greedy, hoarding your money for your selfish desires.”

I am inspired by simultaneous recognition of the completely other-worldly nature of Krishna consciousness, and his very down-to-earth practicality. “Krishna consciousness may be such a high ideal, but are am I so high myself?” I think as I drop some coins into his cup. Better I should play it safe. Still and away, even if I gave him all the money I had, it wouldn’t solve his problems, nor those of the rest of his kin. Only Krishna consciousness can do that. To be born in this world means to be born into problems. Only stopping the repeating cycle of birth and death in the material world can put an end to the problems of this world. And what then for the individual? The Vedic scriptures of India describe another realm of pure spiritual existence, full of variegatedness and individual existence.

Maybe it’s true, maybe not. My experience thus far is enough to keep me on the path. “Looks good so far.” Better than anything else I have come across in this world. Nothing else promises such a high return for your investment, and so far the returns are good.

I pass the Rio Toomba, at least that’s what I think it is called. A woman is out doing her washing in the river, banging it against a rock. I think about my washing, sitting wet in a bag at home. I need to come down here and do my washing, but when will I find the time? The morning seems the best, but the morning is taken up with spiritual practice.

Last night after the program, the devotee whose house it was at spoke to me frankly: “Prabhu, I have been praying to Krishna to please send me someone to live here with me to help. You have my full cooperation. You must stay here in Cuenca and preach. I want to be close to you. I want us to get up early in the morning and chant good rounds, and to preach widely in Cuenca. You must come and stay here in Cuenca. I will find an apartment for you and your wife near here, and you can come in the morning and chant with the devotees, and hear Bhagavatam, and sometimes you can give lectures and I can translate.”

He has been a devotee for many years, and spent two years living as a monk in India, and he is begging me for my association. I am humbled. Maybe if I have his association I can get a drop of the sincerity he has. When he looks at me he only sees the good, the potential of what I can be at my best. It is said that this is the vision of the saintly person, and I feel as if I am in the presence of a saintly person.

I walk further along, thinking about a verse I am trying to compose in Spanish. This saturday Vrajadhama and i have been asked to do bhajans (devotional songs) at a supermarket. I want to sing in the local language. I am trying to convert various verses I know in English into appropriate meter in Spanish. “El principe de Vraja, Sri Nanda-nandan Krishna, esta pasiendo a traves del bosque…” Is this right? I want to say: “The prince of Vraja, Sri Nanda-Nandan Krishna, is wandering in the forest, wearing flowers in his hair.” My first attempt, if I can understand the retranslation into English that my latest host family gave me, intimated that Krishna was somehow mistaken in his activity in the forest. I think I’ll stick to el Hare Krishna, the maha-mantra, in public for some time to come.

I have a few hours before school starts. I am supposed to study and do my homework in this time. I’ve never been good at that. I head to Pacifictel S.A, to call to Lima and speak to my wife Param Satya.

On the way a man passes me a flyer. It is headed “Increible!” (Unbelievable). There is are two pictures at the top, one subtitled “Antes” (before) and one “Despues” (After). They are both hand-drawn stick figure-like outlines of a person. They look like the same picture, although the antes one looks like it has been blown up using a photocopier. I need look no further - the concept is familiar - “Lose weight fast, no diet, no exercise etc…” Here in Ecuador people have lower expectations. My invitations for Monday´s program that i am organising at the resturant in the city are simply pieces of paper with a few typed words in my faltering Spanish. “Hi, my name is Joshua. I am a monk from New Zealand. My spiritual master is coming to Cuenca. Please come to Govinda’s vegetarian restaurant for a vegetarian meal, singing, and a lecture.” In