Content warning: probably-boring-to-most-of-you musings on the spiritual path, devotion, and suffering.

Haha! I'm ahead of schedule now! Here is my heady second half of the post from my previous blog, about my thoughts on devotion, the quote about Krishna and calamities, the purpose of suffering, and one's spiritual path. If that doesn't sound interesting to you, now you know you can skip it!

Recap:

Kunti, the Queen of Kuru thanked Krishna for helping her and her
children in many calamities, and said may there be many more such
calamities if it means Krishna will keep coming to help them so they
can see Him.

I think this is a beautiful lesson for anyone who is going through a rough patch in their lives (and so many are these days.) Not the same but related, I subscribe to the belief that whatever happens is for my good. It's a belief in a benevolent God. But how do you reconcile that with painful and 'bad' things happening in your life?

Well, first off that's quite a big philosophical can of worms to get into, but as I understand the idea of karma, part of that is that you get the reflection reaction and resound of your own actions, though often not right away. But the other part is, using an analogy, a parent giving their child some bitter medicine to cure them of a dangerous disease. It may not be pleasant going down, but it is for the long-term good of the child. Often our greatest learnings and transformations have an element of discomfort, or sadness or loss involved in them. The whole Bhagavad-Gita came about out of the "yoga of despair" of Arjuna, overwhelmed with grief on the battlefield from the thought of having to kill his teachers and extended family, and thus finally surrendering to Krishna (God) completely, out of the despair of not seeing any good path forward. From that, all the great teachings of the Gita came.

I agree with my dad's sentiment that going out and looking for pain or suffering seems counterproductive to a good life. However, I also think avoiding things that matter to you because it involves some discomfort, or shunning it as bad or wrong if discomfort happens to you, is also counterproductive to a good life. In our fear of discomfort or loss we insulate ourselves not just from pain, but from life itself. In our resistance or labeling of pain as wrong, we resist it and thus empower it further.

And this idea that whatever happens is for my good alone, is a way of taking unpleasant events, and prompting oneself to find a way to reframe them in a positive light. It may be unpleasant, but what is it teaching me? By asking the question, the pain can be converted into growth towards something better.

The quote from the Bhagavatam is similar, though perhaps even more intense and profound. Not just a little pain, but even 'calamities.' And not just finding something to be learned from them, but, if they bring God close to you to rescue you, even welcoming them. 

I suppose one could argue that not everybody gets Krishna to come to them personally to help them with their problems. It was Kunti's intense devotion to Krishna, that caused him to intervene so dramatically, I'd say. And her sentiment is more an illustration of that state of mind and heart, rather than a pathway to it.

But it does stand in my mind as a role model to look up to. I aspire towards such a deep level of trust in God and yearning for Him (/Her/It). I mean, what I really want is closeness and experience of God, but I suppose my spiritual search indicates to me that the yearning itself for God, is part of what draws Him to us. 

Oh, one final note, that I was reminded of in the email (though it's not what was said, it just made me think of it) was the idea of 'which spiritual path is better?' between Bhakti and Jnana Yoga. I'm not really a fan of that debate. Everyone's path is unique and that is between you and your guru (if you're lucky enough to have a personal, enlightened guru) or else between you and your inner guru (that's most of us.) And in either case, your guidance is going to give you what you need, which may at one point be intensely doing stuff, at another focusing on love and God, and at another inquiring into the nature of Self, to name just a few possibilities. While there are certainly missteps one can make, I don't think they are so simple as to be condensed into 'this path is right and that is wrong.' I think of it more like a dark wood we're trying to get through with just a dim lantern, and there are various pathways through it to the other side. And all the paths have roots and holes and stuff that you need to watch out for.

But the 'my path is right, yours is wrong' debate seems basically the same as the 'my religion is right, yours is wrong' debate, which I think is responsible for a significant amount of people doing really crummy things to each other, and has produced no love, kindness, joy, or peace in the world. I'm having a hard time imagining a single good thing that could come from that viewpoint. I suppose I could go back to one of my initial points, and the suffering and/or pain caused by that belief could be used to teach me something and help me grow. But as with any pain or suffering, even though I can learn from it and grow from it as I accept it, I wouldn't wish it on anyone, or consciously decide to seek more of it out or promote it. Which I suppose was the point of my dad's email. On the other hand, in reference to Kunti's quote, if pain or suffering could somehow get me personal time with Krishna, I think I might enthusiastically say sign me up.

Funny thing is, it's easy to say that, but in practice, my actions indicate that I would in fact not choose that, and would instead choose comfort. And that's why they pay devotees like Kunti the big bucks, so to speak. True devotion is easier said than done.

OK! If you read this post, I hope you enjoyed it and I accurately described the content beforehand. And otherwise, I hope you read the 'content' warning at the beginning and skipped it, in which case, I'm quite confused how you are reading this, but love you just the same.

Love and peace to you,

Isaac