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Imported quote 24000

Prabhupada: No. Provided you reach there. There is survival or whatever it may be, but whether there is arrival? The best thing is no medicine, and kindly give me some circambulation [sic] and leave me to the fate. (More...)

Prabhupada: Because in this morning I was fainting. So there was no strength. How long I circambulate? (More...)

Imported quote 24007

That same afternoon, we head for a Cistercian monastery near the small town of Yarra Glen, forty miles northeast of Melbourne. Prabhupada usually wants me to drive him wherever we are. I guess he's trusted my driving since the early days, when we hurtled down the 101 in San Francisco together. Each time we were somewhere different, though, I'd have to sit behind the wheel in some new weird car and try to figure out where the turn signals were, usually hitting the windshield wipers instead. Today, I'm driving a medium-sized Australian Holden sedan, Prabhupada in the passenger seat, heading north in rush-hour traffic on the "wrong" side of the road and trying to follow directions uttered by Upananda from the back seat in his Aussie twang. Eventually the traffic clears, and when we at last turn right up a narrow, winding, gravel road, we find ourselves transported a thousand years into the past. The Cistercian Order of the Strict Observance, better known as the Trappists, is an austere order of Catholic monks that traces its roots back to A.D. 1098 The Trappists lead a regulated life of contemplation, prayer, and congregational chanting, with an emphasis on manual labor and self-sufficiency. In 1954, a group of Irish monks moved onto a thousand-acre tract in the rolling hills near Melbourne and called it Tarrawarra Abbey. It's autumn now, harvest season on this side of the world, and as we motor up the mile-long drive lined with giant eucalyptus trees to the hilltop abbey, we're struck by the bountiful countryside around us: sheaves of wheat stacked in the fields, huge baskets of grapes piled at the ends of rows in the vineyards, cows grazing in belly-high grass. "What are those mountains in the distance, Upananda, behind the abbey?" "Those are the Victorian Alps, part of the Great Dividing Range - they're covered in snow in winter." The whole scene looks like an idyllic Romantic pastoral painting. We explain to Prabhupada what little we know about cloistered Christian monks, their place in Western history, and how in isolation they have preserved the strict principles of their faith, and Prabhupada says, "Yes, it is just like our New Vrindaban ashram." As we pull into the courtyard, the sense of returning to a distant time is augmented by the sight of thirty monks, black scapulars over white cassocks, gathered to greet us-one now coming forward to reverently place a garland of fresh-cut roses around Prabhupada's neck and then bow, head to the ground, like the pope has come to visit. Most of the monks bow with him, and we know this is going to be a special occasion. Father Daniel guides Prabhupada to an elaborate, elevated chair in the timber-paneled hall, and the brotherhood assembles before him on simple wooden chairs.

As usual, Prabhupada is amazing. He pitches his words perfectly, finding the common ground. He notes the historical aspects of both our faith and theirs, saying that religion is sanatana-dharma, the "eternal occupation," and that the origins of Krishna consciousness are "practically prehistoric," establishing his precedence in ancient authority. And like you ascetic Catholics, he says, we understand the importance of parampara, the generational handing down of pure religious principles, unchanged, through disciplic succession. We are in rare company. Prabhupada says, "Out of many millions of persons, one is interested to make his life successful. And out of millions of successful persons, one can very rarely understand what is God." And this is our strongest bond, he says: "Our definition of religion is to accept the orders of God. That's all. It doesn't matter what religion you are following. You may be Christian, I may be Hindu, another may be Muhammadan, but the test of religion is how one has developed his God consciousness."

The monks eat it up, seeing that our faith and practices are so similar to theirs, even down to the shaved heads and exotic robes. There is a feeling of instant brotherhood, cross-institutional familiarity. Prabhupada is the dynamic authority, delivering the gospel in a way they understand. These men are well versed in Latin, so Prabhupada's liberal use of Sanskrit only solidifies their conviction that he is for real. Forefinger and thumb of his left hand resting on thigh and curled in a circle, his right hand flows from one powerful gesture to another: two fingers pointing, this way, that way, then clutching the air, then forming his palm in a cup, always moving, in mudras of emphasis. Sometimes he scratches his neck or raises his glasses, closes his eyes tight, then opens them wide and looks into their hearts-and the monks are transfixed. After the lecture, Hanuman Swami opens the floor to ques-tions, and eight monks, some with lilting Irish brogues, stand to make profound queries, like, "How do we know God?" and

"When one becomes sinless, would he then experience the indwelling of God?" Prabhupada answers all questions to their complete satisfaction. We follow with kirtan, which quickly moves from the sub-lime to the boisterous as the monks push their chairs away and clap and dance with us, some laughing with glee despite them-selves, their innocent faces glistening with holy rapture. Ba-boom-BOOM! Kirtan ends, the monks bow down while Prabhupada recites Sanskrit prayers, then rise as one, somewhat stunned. (I'm thinking, "See, it's the same thing, but we have more fun!")

Father Daniel raises his arms, hushes everyone, and says, "We would like to thank Swami Prabhupada for his kindness and extreme gentleness in coming to us. We've listened with respect to the words of life divine, and they have warmed my heart, anyway, and given me hope for a family of human brothers to which we belong. I think we are closer to one another now, to the devotees of the temple. It's very beautiful coming here tonight, and I certainly feel that this little meeting, the human brothers under a common Father, is a particular inspiration for coming in contact with a God whom we're all reaching out for but who has many faces. Thank you very much." After the meeting we gather in the rectory around a long wooden table laden with fresh vegetarian food, a banquet right out of the Middle Ages, with heaps of grapes, platters of baked potatoes, and loaves of fresh-baked bread. I speak with the monk seated next to me, and he tells me there are about four thousand Cistercian monks and nuns living in 170 similar retreats world-wide. "Yeah, we call them ashrams," I say. "You'll find such places all over India."

He describes the monks' daily routine, which surprisingly is much like ours:

4 a.m.: Office of Vigils - reading from scripture 6 a.m.: Office of Lauds - Mass, taking the Eucharist, an hour of prayer, then silent breakfast
8 a.m.: Office of Terce, then work in the fields or buildings for three hours
11:15 a.m.: Office of Sext - followed by main daily meal, silent while someone reads aloud, nap
1:40 p.m.: Office of None followed by four hours of work
6 p.m.: Office of Vespers, then a light evening meal, conversation allowed
8 p.m.: Office of Compline, which is sung in unison in the dark-ness, including Psalm 91:

You set your love on me so I will save you; Protect you for you know my name. When you call I shall answer: "I am with you," I will save you in distress and give you glory.

Followed by a final hymn, "Salve Regina":

Hail, holy Queen, Mother of Mercy! Our life, our sweetness, and our hope ... O clemens, o pia, o dulcis Virgo Maria.

One of the monks points to a picture of Mother Mary hanging on the wall and says with reverence, "She is the object of our love." I say, "Yeah, she looks like Krishna's mother, Yasoda." After eating, Prabhupada is led to a room to meet Dom Kevin O'Farrell, the old abbot of the monastery, who had come here from Ireland in 1959. They appear to be about the same age, but Prabhupada is actually twenty-three years older and, compared to the abbot, he seems like a you (More...)

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