Stand on the real platform

Thursday, 13 May 2010 10:31 Written by Tulasi Vallabha Das

Truth is bright like a sunshine. Nothing can ever cover it but still we  become covered by our own illusion. A life is full of events, unexpected or expected experiences, decisions and choices and new realizations at every step. One of the most depressing this is to evaluate our life according to our own terms and conditions. Unfortunately this is the cause of major depression in people. We honestly see our weakness but never address them or fail to go to the right place to address it.

This is because we base everything on a very wrong platform. The platform is mental platform which can be our mind or other minds. It has no real substance in it. Mind is a fast moving plane. It takes us for a ride everytime we put faith in it. We base our existence on it, either our view of world, belief in God, respecting others, deciding what is right and wrong , basically every thing we do. And this is the real cause of all worries and faithlessness and pure exploitation of ourselves and others.

The solution is stand or base everything on a platform of truth. And that truth is Veda, the knowledge coming from God. The essence of it is readily available in the form of Srimad Bhagavatam, which is the essence of all vedic knowledge. And it must be heard from a genuine practioner without his mental concoted input.

Really, if we are serious to seek out the best path then we just take this, because it has already been chalked out for us. Ofcourse this needs our effort to move from mental platform to platform of knowledge. This is the path of all great souls.

Cover Me

Monday, 19 April 2010 13:50 Written by Tulasi Vallabha Das

By Indradyumna Swami

After two months of preaching and fundraising in the United States, I was ready for a break, so when Swarup Damodar dasa, president of the Durban temple in South Africa, asked me to come in April for Ratha-yatra, I jumped at the chance.

After checking in for my flight at the Atlanta Airport, I was walking to the boarding gate when I passed a group of young marines. “Hey, pretty boy!” one called out. “Where you off to?”

I turned toward him. “Pretty boy?” I said.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said. “I mean the dress. It’s just awesome.” The other marines broke out laughing.

I walked over to where they were sitting. “These are my robes, soldier,” I said. “I’m a monk.”

Another marine laughed. “A monk?” he said. “In a pink sheet?”

“Is this is how they train you boys?” I shot back. “You’re part of an elite fighting force, serving one of the greatest countries in the world.”

“Huh!” sneered a marine. “What do you know about serving your country?” he said with a thick southern accent.

I glared at him. “First Battalion,” I said, “Alpha Company, Platoon 2066. I graduated from Camp Pendleton on March 16, 1969.”

“Really?” one of them said. “Did you fight in ‘Nam?”

“No,” I said. “I was sick when my unit shipped out. All the boys in my platoon were wiped out in an ambush their first week in combat. I received further training stateside and became an instructor.”

The boy who first called out to me was about to say something when another marine stopped him. “Leave him alone, Mark,” he said. “He did his time.”

The others nodded in agreement.

I turned to Mark. “This is what you’re fighting for, leatherneck,” I said.

“Democracy means to have a choice. We can choose our leaders, our ideals, and our religion. I choose Krsna consciousness.”

“My cousin is a Hare Krsna,” said one of the boys. “I know a little bit about your beliefs. One of the first guys in your religion was a soldier. He fought on a huge battlefield.”

I smiled. “Arjuna,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s his name,” said the boy.

I sat down. “I have a student who’s a Marine and has served two tours in Iraq,” I said.

“We’re off to Afghanistan next month,” said one of the boys as they gathered around me.

“What’s your student’s name?” said another.

“Captain Anthony Alexander,” I said. “He’s a commanding officer with three hundred men under him in Communications Company, First Marine Division.”

“What’s he like?” said one of the marines.

“Like Arjuna,” I said.

The boy put his hand up in a high-five gesture, which I met with my own hand. I looked at my watch. “Sorry boys,” I said, “but I gotta go.”

“Hey,” said one of them, “stay a little longer,”

“My flight leaves in twenty minutes,” I said as I got up. “Keep your heads down over there.”

As I walked away, Mark ran up and put out his hand. “Sorry, sir,” he said. “I was disrespectful.”

I shook his hand tightly. “No problem, soldier,” I said. “Semper Fi!”

The Marine who knew about Arjuna waved. “Hare Krsna, sir!” he called out.