Volume 6, Chapter 8

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Diary of a Traveling Preacher

 

Volume 6, Chapter 8

 

By Indradyumna Swami

 

May 16 - 23, 2005

 

 

"A New Beginning"

 

 

I took a flight from Warsaw to Kiev, the capital of Ukraine, with Sri

Prahlad das and Rukmini Priya dasi. We landed in the early afternoon on a

warm spring day. As we walked outside from the international terminal to the

domestic for our connecting flight, we saw many people lounging about

casually on benches or sitting at small sidewalk cafes.

 

A number of elderly women in headscarves, typical of the older generation,

were selling their wares of honey, fruit, vodka, and candy from small

tables. Taxi drivers approached the crowd of passengers leaving the

terminal, and big, burly men stood about in small groups, talking and

smoking.

 

Although I visit Ukraine every year, the arrival is always somewhat of a

culture shock, and it takes me a few hours to adjust. The scene was much the

same as when I first visited here 15 years ago: old, poorly maintained gray

buildings, rusted iron lampposts, potholes in the roads - all from another

era.

 

To be sure, there were superficial changes: fancy shops, nice cars, people

wearing the latest Western fashions with cell phones in hand. And Ukraine

had recently undergone a major change with its Orange Revolution, when the

people elected a liberal, democratic president who proposed joining the

European Union. But it would take centuries to change the external look of

the country, the result of 50 years under the old government.

 

As we boarded our fight to Dniepropetrovsk, I was again reminded of the old

status quo. The plane was typical of those I'd been flying on for years in

Ukraine: foul-smelling and messy, with a grimy carpet. There was little leg

room, and the food table on the back of the seat in front of me had a broken

hinge and rested permanently folded out in front me.

 

Worse yet, I had a seat in the middle of a row, with a heavy-set woman on

one side and what appeared to be a foreign businessman with suit, tie, and

briefcase on the other. I settled in and prepared myself for one hour of

pure austerity.

 

But as is often the case, the Lord took advantage of the situation to deepen

my appreciation of His glories and to let me share them with others.

 

A half an hour into the flight, the gentleman on my side turned to me and

began speaking with a British accent. "Are you part of a spiritual

organization?" he asked.

 

"Yes, sir," I replied. "I'm from the Hare Krsna movement."

 

"I see," he said. "I'm also on a spiritual search."

 

I thought his comment a little odd, considering his clothes and briefcase.

 

My surprise must have shown in my face. "Don't be fooled by my appearance,"

he said. "I am retired and divorced, and I'm traveling looking for the

deeper meaning of life."

 

"In Ukraine?" I said. "It's an unusual destination for a spiritual seeker."

 

"I've traveled to over a hundred counties in the last thirty-five years," he

said. "Mostly for business, mind you, but always searching for what was

missing in my life."

 

I studied him closely. "What could be missing?" I said, trying to get the

right question out of him. "Judging from your appearance, you look quite

successful."

 

"I'm a millionaire many times over," he said without emotion, "but I'm not

happy. Wealth came to me without much effort, but it's never been my goal.

Ever since I was young, I've been searching for something more meaningful.

It began when I was 17. I was a fan of the Beatles. In 1967, when I heard

they had gone to India on a spiritual quest, I also felt a strong desire to

go there."

 

"How old are you?" I asked.

 

"I'm 56," he replied.

 

"So am I," I said. "It seems that there are similarities in our lives. I was

born in America, and like much of the youth in the 1960s, I rejected the

status quo of the times, looking for a spiritual alternative."

 

"Is that so?" he said. "My parents made sure I finished my education and

then set me up in business. It was only then that I could fulfill my

ambition to start traveling. I went to India and visited many holy places,

but even there I couldn't find exactly what I was looking for."

 

I decided it was time to offer some spiritual advice.

 

"You know," I said, "the ancient scriptures of India say the most important

thing about a holy place is the holy men who live there. By hearing from

such enlightened souls, we can appreciate the true sanctity of the place.

Because we are conditioned souls, our senses are covered by illusion. "

 

He thought for a moment. "That makes sense," he said.

 

He then continued with his story. "Though I am busy with family affairs and

work, my main objective in life has always been the spiritual. I made it a

point to inquire about the spiritual tradition of any country my business

took me to. I've been to more churches, temples, and mosques in my life than

you can count." He shook his head.

 

"What have you learned from all those visits?" I asked.

 

He thought for a moment. "Not a lot, really," he said.

 

A verse came to my mind from Prema Bhakti Candrika, by Srila Narottam das

Thakur. I always travel with a copy, and I quickly pulled the book out of my

shoulder bag and showed the man the verse:

 

tirtha jatra parisrama kevala manera bhrama

sarba siddhi govinda carana

drdha visvasa hrde dhari mada matsarjya parihari

sada kara ananya bhajana

 

"Traveling to the holy places is a waste of energy and born from illusion,

for the lotus feet of Sri Govinda are the perfection of one's life.

Therefore, one should give up pride and envy and with firm determination in

the heart, always worship the Lord without deviation."

 

I added some explanation. "It doesn't means we shouldn't visit holy places,"

I said, "but the objective is to find God there. Churches, temples, and

mosques are houses of God."

 

"Houses of God?" he said. "Do you actually believe God is a person?"

 

I smiled. "There's not much time to debate," I said, "but if God is not a

person, where has your own personality come from?"

 

"What do you mean?" he said.

 

"God means the Absolute Truth, that from which everything is coming," I

said.

 

"That sounds logical," he said,

 

"Something cannot come from nothing," I said. "Because you have personality,

God must also be a person."

 

I see what you're getting at," he said. "It makes sense ... again."

 

He paused for a moment, then continued. "Where have you gotten all this

knowledge?" he said. "Have you traveled a lot also?"

 

"Yes, I have," I said. "Perhaps not to a hundred countries like you; still,

I've traveled far and wide, but my source of knowledge comes not as much

from my travels as from what I've heard from my spiritual master, Srila

Prabhupada."

 

I started to take down notes of the conversation.

 

"What are you doing?" he asked.

 

"I'm writing down our conversation," I replied. "If I don't, I'll quickly

forget it. I keep a diary."

 

He looked a little puzzled. "Why is our conversation so important to you?"

he asked.

 

"I'll be sharing it with others," I said with a smile. "I send my diary out

regularly to receivers on the internet."

 

"You must be well known then," he said.

 

"I suppose so," I said.

 

"I'd like to be famous," he said. "It's the one thing I have never achieved

in life."

 

"No you wouldn't," I said.

 

He looked surprised. "I wouldn't?" he said.

 

"Material opulence hasn't brought you any lasting satisfaction," I said,

"and neither would fame. It's a subtle material pleasure, but material all

the same."

 

"That's true," he said nodding his head. "Everything you say is true."

 

"It's because I have a spiritual teacher," I said.

 

He started speaking excitedly. "After Ukraine, I'm going to Moldova," he

said, "then Romania, and then Bulgaria. This summer I plan to go to Africa,

to the Congo. And then I hope to return to India in the autumn. I've heard

India is very beautiful in that season."

 

"Time is running out," I said. "You've only got another fifteen or twenty

years left, at best."

 

"What are you getting at?" he said.

 

"Both you and I have been traveling for thirty-five years," I said, "but

soon we're going to die. Are you ready for death? In all your travels, have

you learned what happens after death?"

 

"No I haven't," he answered, looking a little embarrassed.

 

"That subject is just the beginning of spiritual knowledge," I said. "Maybe

you should change your approach to learning about spiritual life."

 

Just then the stewardess announced over the sound system that the plane was

about to land. The conversation was about to end.

 

"Where will I go after I die?" he said. His voice had an edge of

desperation.

 

"That depends on your consciousness at the moment of death," I said. "You

could descend into the animal species, be reborn in the human form of life,

or go back to the spiritual world."

 

"You also learned that from your spiritual teacher?" he asked.

 

"I didn't learn it in a taxi," I said. I couldn't help smiling.

 

Our plane landed and started towards the airport terminal. He was quiet.

After a few minutes he turned to me. "It's a fact that our lives have been

similar," he said. "We were born in the same year, grew up in the same

generation, listened to the same music, and traveled to many of the same

places."

 

He turned to look out the window, and I scribbled his words down on my

notepad. "But what we have most in common," he said, continuing to look

outside, "is that we're spiritual seekers."

 

He turned to me. "But the difference," he said slowly, "is that you found

what I was looking for."

 

"The difference, my friend," I said, "is that I found a spiritual teacher."

 

His eyes opened wide as he suddenly realized what I had been stressing the

whole time. "Yes, it's clear now," he said softly. "That's what I've been

missing: a spiritual teacher."

 

The plane had come to a full stop, and the passengers were busy gathering

their belongings and starting to move out.

 

"But it's not too late," I said.

 

I quickly wrote down my e-mail address and handed it to him. "Here's my

e-mail address," I said. "Write to me."

 

I put my hand on his shoulder. "I promise you," I said, "I'll share with

you everything I have ever learned from him."

 

He closed his eyes for a moment and nodded his head. "Thank you," he said.

"I think my search has finally ended."

 

I smiled. "It's more like a new beginning," I said. "Only now, you'll have

Srila Prabhupada to show you the way."

 

I thought of Srila Prabhupada's introduction to Sri Isopanisad:

 

"If you want to attain knowledge by any personal endeavor, by exercising

your imperfect senses, you will never come to the right conclusion. That is

not possible. There is a statement in Brahma-samhita: Just ride on the

airplane which runs at the speed of mind. Our material airplanes can run two

thousand miles per hour, but what is the speed of mind? You are sitting at

home, you immediately think of India, say ten thousand miles away, and at

once it is in your home. Your mind has gone there. The mind-speed is so

swift. Therefore it is stated, 'If you travel at this speed for millions of

years, you'll find that the spiritual sky is unlimited.' It is not possible

even to approach it. Therefore, the Vedic injunction is that one must

approach - the word 'compulsory' is used - a bona fide spiritual master, a

guru."

 

indradyumna.swami (AT) pamho (DOT) net

 

www.traveling-preacher.com

Official website for Diary of a Traveling Preacher