The first time I led a kirtan in New York City was quite a heady trip for me. The hosting yoga center advertised the event considerably, so the hall was packed. They also arranged for me to be accompanied by a band of talented musicians from the city. I felt like the proverbial country bear entering the hip, glamourous city scene. Happily, the night went well, the chanting was strong and the energy was very high.
When the chanting was over, I was pumped up from being the center of attention. Now everyone was fussing on me. This being New York, I guess, many of the guys wanted to talk about future events, many of the ladies wanted to flirt, and the organizer handed me a sizeable check. Everyone seemed to agree that Prem Prakash was pretty cool. It was a real bright lights and big city experience. I was feeling darn satisfied with myself.
Before I went to bed that night, however, I took stock of my situation. I needed to reflect on why I was feeling just a tad too super-duper. It didn’t take a whole lot of introspection to realize my sense of pride was amplified well beyond anything having to do with sharing yoga with others. Although it seemed at the time like a pleasant bubble that I didn’t want to burst, my gurus had warned me about the poisonous snake hiding in the woodpile of self-importance. I knew I needed to take a good look at myself and my feelings.
As I meditated, I realized I was feeling puffed up because the places of loneliness, insecurity, and low self-esteem in me had been filled by the energy of the enthusiastic audience. Their adulation had temporarily over-ridden my self-doubt and I was flying on their psychic force. It became strikingly clear to me what a trap this was, and how easy it would be to become attached to this adulation. Plus, although I had felt myself too powerful and in control, I was actually entirely dependent on the praise of others to feed my needs. I saw how sad is the situation of those addicted to public acclaim and the applause of the crowd.
In yoga, there is an energy called ananda shakti, which means “energy of joy.” The sages have told us that if we want to experience this joy, this divine power, we must relinquish our personal, limited desires. This energy originates and culminates in love, which can only be felt amongst equals. Pursuing selfish desires is not sinful or malevolent, but it does prevent our experience of this state of higher consciousness.
Those who seek the unlimited happiness of Spirit within the limitations of a personal agenda are not bad, they are just young. They are spiritually immature and do not enjoy the peace and positive vibrations of those who are more developed spiritually. This is most apparent in the unhappiness seen in the lives of the rich and famous. If the fulfillment of personal desires led to happiness, we could expect those with the charisma and resources to fulfill their desires would be the happiest. Of course, this is far from reality.
Yoga has only been in this country for approximately 100 years, beginning when Swami Vivekananda spoke at the World’s Fair in Chicago in 1893. Plus, for all practical purposes, yoga has only entered mainstream consciousness during the past 40 years. The popularity of yoga and the rise of kirtan is a remarkable development, one which I believe will have a vast and positive effect on our culture over the long-term. In the short-term, however, there are a couple of problems.
Several of my peers, Westerners who have studied traditional yoga and undergone years of sadhana (spiritual practice), are quite depressed about the state of yoga in the West. They feel despair over the commercialization and superficial demonstrations of this profound art and science. I can understand their feelings, it is hard to see something precious that you love treated like a cheap commodity. Still, I remain optimistic that the inherent purity and power in yoga will sugar things out over time. This may be over a period of generations, which is fine, as yoga has survived and flourished for millennia. What’re a couple of hundred years in the context of eternity?
Too often, yoga is being presented as a way for a teacher to make money, enjoy fame, or somehow benefit personally. I speak from personal experience based on what I have seen and what I have been offered. People charging unnecessary sums of money for yoga events repeat a seemingly reasonable phrase about “monetary realities in America” as if it were a mantra. With all due respect, I must disagree. Yoga is not about compromising with the commercial, superficial reality of modern life. Yoga, with its roots in ananda shakti, offers an entirely different paradigm, one based on giving more than one takes. Imagine a world where people challenge themselves to be as generous with others as they possibly can. This is the world of yoga. Furthermore, publicity is vastly overvalued, usually completely unnecessary. Speaking of the manner by which aspirants find their teachers and each other, the great sage and poet, Kabir, said, “When the flower blooms, the bees come uninvited.”
Promoters of yoga may act out of seemingly good intentions, but good intentions are not sufficient. The nature of a psychological blind spot is that one is blind to it. Those who believe they are sharing yoga with others in a manner that just so happens to benefit them personally are fooling themselves. I’d suggest this may happen when someone has not trained with an authentic guru who was willing to pop the bubble of their delusions when necessary. Once again, people who seek to find their happiness in egocentric ways are not bad, they are simply seeking in the wrong direction. It is just especially unfortunate when this wrong direction involves yoga, since yoga is such a beautiful pointer in the correct direction.
Since that first kirtan in New York, I have had some ideas about how kirtan can be shared in a manner that nourishes and empowers all those involved. For starters, a concert milieu is not the way to present kirtan. It inherently creates problems associated with having one dynamic person on stage and most everyone else part of a relatively passive audience. Perhaps it can be said the goal of kirtan should be for people to feel increasingly devoted to God, not to the kirtan leader. Also, the environment should help participants feel more intimate with each other, not part of a social hierarchy based on some relative status. Finally, as tradition has held, there should be no monetary charge for the chanting of God’s names. If I invite you to my home for a party but ask for a fee, you would think it odd. Similarly, celebrating our devotion together requires no cash, checks, or credit cards.
How these ideas can be implemented can vary based on the dynamics of any given community and event. I can vouch that they are feasible, as we at Kailash Ashram have found ways to share kirtan that involves everyone while nourishing devotion, fun, and communal intimacy. To argue that kirtan requires monetary or other compromises based on social realities is to not understand the truly radical, transformative nature of yoga. Ananda shakti calls us to the cliff of our understanding and security, then harkens us to leap with wings of faith. There is no flight into freedom without the leap.
I have written this brief essay at the request of my dear friend, Jeanine, who loves yoga and is deeply devoted to God. When she asked me to please comment about some of the marketing and commercialization taking place in the name of kirtan here in the West, I initially declined. I said that we should continue to fly under the radar, enjoy our own delight in ananda shakti, and let others reap what they sow. She persisted, however, arguing that she and others of a sensitive nature were sometimes hurt by the degradation of yoga and kirtan. Eventually, my love and respect for my friend outweighed my reluctance to offer this otherwise unasked-for opinion.
In addition, I have no strenuous objection to anyone doing whatever they like, as long as it does not involve harming others. As a yogi, I am a libertarian, content to mind my own business and let others work out their own karma without my sticking my nose into their affairs. If the great gurus are willing to allow people to act in a certain way, why should I get bent out of shape? Who am I to protest?
My intention in writing this essay is to support those whose intuition has begun to awaken, those who sense that there is a depth to yoga that may not be apparent in contemporary America. I promise you that yoga and related practices, such as kirtan, can be a doorway into a world of truth, beauty, and love. It behooves us to support each other’s highest efforts and to gently point out errors we might be making. This is what friends are for. Only the greatest sages are beyond the fear, loneliness, and confusion that aspirants like us share. The path is subtle and we need each other’s cheers and constructive insights. I hope this writing may benefit some of you in your pursuit of ananda shakti.
